Secrets and Lies
by failedfracture
Summary: Hermione is in a relationship with a man she doesn't trust, and his old friends are part of the mystery. Draco's history with Pansy and Theo is complex and he does his best to keep her away from the couple...unsuccessfully. Warning: Though this is a Dramione fic, there's a dash of kink with Pansy/Theo as secrets are exposed.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Chapter 1 rewritten 8/3/2020. No major plot changes, just extra smut. Not for the light-hearted. Draco and Hermione's relationship is founded on secrets and lies but the question is whether Hermione can still love him when she finds out everything he has done... The plot is somewhat dark, but I prefer happy endings so there's a good chance for one.

The chapter begins as an established relationship, and backstory is provided toward the end and in the next chapter.

* * *

Pansy kissed his cheek.

It was only a little peck from a married woman, so when Hermione felt the jealousy rise up within her, white-hot and threatening to expose itself, she took a deep breath and _smiled._

"Come over for dinner soon," Pansy said in a chipper tone, her hand still resting on his cheek. "We've missed you."

She turned to Hermione and, for a split second that felt like an eternity, sized her up from head to toe like she was unraveling a complicated mystery. She had been polite, Hermione would give her that, but she suspected it was a well-crafted facade, hiding a layer of bigotry and general distaste.

During that fraction of a second, the rest of the bustling alley melted away and she was standing only amidst Draco and Pansy, the two most hateful bullies at Hogwarts. She wondered what on earth she was doing with them, and how on earth her life had changed so significantly in the last few months that this was a normal afternoon.

And then the moment was gone, and before Hermione could object or form any opinion on the matter at all, the other witch leaned in and kissed her cheek exactly as she had Draco's a moment before. Soft plump lips landed too close to her own and remained a fraction of a second too long. Perfume flooded her senses, and instead of pulling away Hermione leaned in a fraction of an inch.

Pansy smiled against her cheek and then looked her in the eyes almost warmly.

"Bring her with you, Draco," she said without looking away from Hermione. Did she have dimples?

"Unlikely," he drawled as he grabbed Hermione's hand. "But please, give Theo our best."

He tugged, breaking Hermione's sudden fixation with Pansy's long, dark eyelashes. The perfume, Hermione thought, it must be some sort of magic. There was just no way other logical reason that she would feel so strangely around the witch.

* * *

"You don't socialize with Pansy and Theo much anymore," Hermione observed over lunch. "You used to be best friends."

Draco studied her. "Yes." He wiped his lips with a napkin and placed it back on the table. "They're still friends. I just...need some distance from them."

Distance, coincidentally, that he'd put between them shortly after he'd started dating Hermione. "I don't want you to lose your friends because of me."

"I appreciate your concern," he replied, and then with a veil of indifference he added, "I keep them at a distance for my own reasons."

The shape of Pansy's lips were etched into her mind. Draco kept everyone at a distance, including Hermione, his girlfriend of over two months. There were too many secrets between them, too many topics avoided. She felt like she barely knew him at all. Did they know him? Pansy and Theo? After all their years together at Hogwarts and since, she thought they must know him exceptionally well.

She took a sip of her tea, the fragrance soothing her nerves. "Pansy invited us both to dinner. Maybe that's a sign that they've changed as well. For the better."

Draco gave her an odd look, perhaps amused or annoyed, or a bit of both. "Whatever it sounded like, Granger, it wasn't a dinner invitation," he said quietly. As he watched her expression change to one of confusion, he added, "I know their intentions, and they aren't what you think."

She considered his words for a moment. "Do they hate me that much?"

He looked like he was about to say something and then changed his mind. "Just... do me a favor and stay away from them."

* * *

"I saw Theo today in the lift."

Draco's mood changed instantly, walls between them reconstructed and reinforced with her one, simple little sentence. He set his glass of wine on the side table next to his wingback chair. "Oh?"

Hermione watched him carefully, gauging his reaction. "He said to tell you hello. And to ask you to return his owls."

Draco's hand tightened around his glass. "Yes, I'll be sure to do that."

"He's making an effort to reach out to you. To be kind to me. Maybe it's time we-"

"I'd prefer that you stay away from him and Pansy."

She pursed her lips. "Theo and I work together."

"You're on different floors. It shouldn't be a hardship."

"Tell me why you want me to stay away from them and I will," Hermione replied, lifting a book from the shelf and opening the front cover. He kept all his first editions there in the study. It was an impressive collection, if also a bit pretentious. After a minute of silence she asked, "Are you afraid they will spill your secrets?"

He blinked, then stood up and approached her, attempting to disarm her with an innocent look. "Are you afraid I have secrets?"

"Do you?"

"We all do." He twisted his ring with his thumb. "We all have things we would rather not talk about. Don't we?"

Her visit with Ron last week popped to mind, which she had failed to mention to him.

"I've seen you at your worst," she replied, putting the book back in its place, "and I've forgiven you. Is there really anything left that you think I wouldn't forgive?"

"No," he said. She thought that was a lie. "But there are always going to be uncomfortable truths and things that have happened that don't require revisiting. Theo and Pansy... they are my past. You are my future. Is it unreasonable to want to keep them separate? Start fresh?"

His hand slipped around her waist and he rested his forehead against hers. When she didn't respond, he smiled and kissed her gently, lips parting over hers and encouraging her to do the same. Her body responded to him even when her mind said she shouldn't.

She was his _future_.

It was the first time he'd said anything about their future together and how long this thing between them might last. She kissed him back hopefully, a pressure building in her chest that she'd been fighting against for weeks.

She might love him.

She had never felt anything as strong as she felt for Draco. The only thing holding her back from categorizing it as _love_ was the certainty that there were things about him she didn't know. He was so... kind. It was such a drastic change from the boy he once was. There was more below the surface, beyond the gentleman he'd grown up to be. She just knew it.

The way he kissed her neck made her toes curl in her high heels. His gentleness was such a contrast to what she had expected when their relationship first began, and all this time she had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. No one could be this perfect, especially not _him_.

A moan escaped her as he pulled her closer to him, the content of his tented trousers pressing against her hip.

How could she really love someone she didn't entirely know?

Distracting her completely from her inquiry, he lowered his head and captured her lips in another heated kiss. His hands traveled over her stomach and hips as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Somehow she was still marveled, even after being with him for months, that he knew exactly how to touch her and kiss her to make her forget the world. He caught her hand and kissed her palm, causing pleasant tingles to run up her arm and down the length of her spine. His eyes were dark with need, burning into her as she leaned up on her tip toes and kissed him again.

He tugged at her wrist and guided her toward his desk, and then he wrapped an arm around her waist and sat her down on the edge. They'd never had sex outside of a bed before, and the wood that dug into the back of her thighs reminded her of why she'd never suggested it. She would be awkward and stiff and bruised and he'd be stifling laughter as she squeaked in discomfort, ultimately dragging her up the stairs midway which would be even _more_ awkward. Trekking the manor nude, past hissing portraits and house elves that popped away at the sight of them...

Not sexy. Not at all.

But then he hooked his hands below her knees and spread them wide, and she thought maybe... Maybe she could do this. For him.

He flicked open the top button to her shirt and kissed the exposed skin on her sternum.

By the time he reached the fourth button, she had forgot all about her worries again. He was so good to her, so attentive. He pulled the cup of her bra down below her breast and teased her nipple with his tongue, fingers drifting lazily over her thighs.

Everything he did was elegant. Every move, careful and calculated. She wondered if he'd ever had a truly awkward moment in his entire life.

Her hand slipped backward on a piece of parchment paper.

She was awkward enough for them both, she decided.

He pushed her shirt off her shoulders and tugged at her hips, pulling her to the edge and firmly against the bulge in his trousers. She sighed gratefully as he rolled his hips against her.

But after a minute, the anxious thoughts drifted back to mind once more. She could ask him to take her upstairs, where they'd be comfortable, where he could hold her and make love to her properly, but as he flattened his hand over hers on the desk and his shoulders arched beneath her hand, she was fairly certain he liked this sort of...spontaneity.

He'd never really asked her for much. He always seemed to sense her limits, her preferences, and had never once pushed her beyond them.

He stood up tall and hovered over her, peering down into her eyes.

"Lets go upstairs," he said, his thumb grazing over her jawline.

Hermione shook her head, no. And yet, the parchment that stuck to the palm of her hand as she tried to lift it reminded her of all her earlier concerns.

No, she didn't particularly want to try shagging on a desk that had belonged to Lucius Malfoy.

Draco smirked a little, like his point had been proven, and kissed her again quickly, stepping backward so she would follow.

But she didn't.

She didn't want this to be like every other night they'd spent together, where he focused on her pleasure until she forgot all of her worries and melted into him. She wanted to know what _else_ he liked. What she could do that would make _him_ melt.

He looked at her curiously, a few steps closer to the door than she was.

She stood tall and reached behind her, finding the zip to her skirt, and... she pulled it down.

She might be awkward. She probably _was_ quite awkward. But she knew things about men...generally speaking. Common fantasies and tricks she could play with her tongue and her lips.

Things she hadn't done for him yet.

Draco tugged at his collar, his eyes on her body as he stood still and silent. She pushed her skirt over her hips and it fell in a heap around her feet.

And there she was, in her lacy white underthings and her best pair of nude heels in the middle of his study, feeling silly and uncomfortable and... very aware of how he was affected.

If nothing else, his wide, dark eyes, and the thick bulge in his trousers were a sure giveaway.

Maybe he didn't think it was silly at all. Maybe he liked the show.

"Sit," she whispered, eyes darting toward the wingback chair beside the fireplace.

Draco walked across the room and stopped in front of the chair, hesitating for a split second before he followed her instruction.

He leaned back and set his hands on the armrest. A storm raged in his eyes as she stepped toward him, reaching behind her for the clasp to her bra. She stopped in front of him, two steps away, and he drank her in as she pulled the straps slowly off each arm, revealing herself to him inch by inch.

Her heart raced in her chest, torn still between feeling sexy and foolish. She understood suddenly why women danced and smiled and tossed their hair around while stripping.

Standing still felt a bit like waiting at the gallows.

But she wasn't that woman. She was no Pansy Parkinson, with her swaying hips and sensual demeanor.

Yet...he wasn't laughing, even as she felt a warm flush that she was certain had coated her in pink. He didn't laugh as she hooked her thumbs in her knickers and moved them back and forth across the lace edge.

His hand moved over his ribcage near his heart, eyes dragging over her form.

"You are so fucking beautiful," he said quietly.

It was the encouragement she needed to push the fabric down, just an inch over her hips.

"Turn," he said in a deep timbre that gave her goosebumps. She exhaled, surprised at her own reaction to a simple word. It was the way he dragged out the syllable that had her mind reeling.

God, he was sexy.

She turned slow, trying hard to move gracefully on her heels.

Maybe she should have taken them off. Was it strange to wear shoes while stripping for your boyfriend? She'd seen it in muggle movies but _he_ probably hadn't, and without that cultural influence she wasn't really sure it served a purpose.

It was probably silly.

But it was done. She was stripping and wearing heels, and if he didn't know it was a thing that was fine. Just...fine.

She heard fabric rustling as she pushed her knickers down over her thighs. God, she hoped he was taking off his clothes. It felt so odd to be the only naked person in the room.

He exhaled audibly when she pushed her knickers over her knees, breaking the restless silence.

Maybe she wasn't horrible at this.

She pulled at the heels of her shoes and stepped out of them one by one, kicking her knickers off her ankle. She was bent over in an ungodly display. Too bare. Too revealing.

She should have dimmed the lights.

"Accio," he whispered.

Hermione took a deep breath, imagining him with her knickers in his hand, and wondered what the hell she was supposed to do next.

She stood upright and lifted her up hair off her neck, surprised when she felt him kiss her between her shoulder blades. She shivered as his lips and tongue moved up her spine to the nape of her neck, his hands cupping her backside and tracing the bottom curve.

His arms wrapped around her, moving slowly around her waist and up to her breasts, and he kneaded them both carefully, just the way she liked. Every move of his thumbs on her nipples sent a jolt to her center, and when he moved one hand between her thighs and felt the sickness there, her head fell back on his shoulder with a moan.

He tugged at her hips and pulled her backward into the chair with him. Down onto his lap. She could feel his hard length against her bottom and she squirmed against it just a little.

"Fuck," he breathed into her ear.

His hands tightened on her breasts, rougher than usual as he arched up and pressed her down against his cock, his creased brow buried in the crook of her neck. He stilled for a second when she gasped, and she almost wished she hadn't reacted. She wanted him to stop worrying so much about her and what _she_ wanted and what _she_ liked. What did _he_ like? How was he with other women before her, or...was he really always such a gentleman?

Strong hands lifted her an inch and moved her sideways so she was on his thigh, and he pulled her lips to his for a deep and scorching kiss that made her core tremble. He traced patterns on her skin that left a tingle behind.

No, he wasn't going to sidetrack her. She had a plan and this time-this time _she_ was going to give generously. He couldn't always be the one in control. The one deciding and enforcing her limits.

She unbuttoned his shirt and kissed his clavicle, and then slid down slowly between his legs until she was kneeling on the rug.

"Granger-"

His Adams Apple moved up and down as she unfastened his trousers, and when she dipped her hand in to release him, he shuddered and grabbed her wrist.

"You don't have to do that."

She didn't _have_ to do anything, no, but she had never put her mouth on him before and he'd done it for her _every single time_ they'd had sex. It didn't seem fair that it was always about her.

"Let me," she implored, meeting his eyes with a look she hoped was convincing. She wanted to do this for him.

He released her wrist, his bare chest rising and falling with carefully measured breaths. Her eyes caught on the expanse of pale skin, the lean muscle beneath her fingertips. She could see his heart racing.

Hermione tugged at his trousers and he lifted his hips up for her. His cock bounced up proudly as she pulled his trousers down to his ankles.

Her nails raked up his thighs as she considered what she was about to do, the length of him intimidating at this angle. She watched him for little reactions, which was all he was usually prone to, and she noted all the little things that told her how much he wanted this. His hands tightened on the edges of the armrests, lips parted as she wrapped a hand around the base of his cock. His lashes fluttered as she moved her hand up to the tip and twisted her palm over him.

He was glorious.

She licked her lips and he watched the movement with fascination. His leg twitched against her ribs as she dipped forward, and when she licked the underside of his shaft, he released a shuddering breath. She did it a second time and looked up at him through her eyelashes. When her mouth finally wrapped around his head, his abdomen trembled.

"Fuck," he whispered.

She looked up into his eyes again as she rolled her tongue around the ridge. The dark look he gave her, the set of his jaw, they were familiar and yet foreign. Wild and greedy for the pleasure her mouth could give him. She sunk down as far as she could, sliding her tongue out past her bottom lip to catch more of him. His cock twitched in her mouth, and she lifted her head slowly, glancing up at him again. He looked enraptured, caught somewhere between pleasure and torment because...he needed more. She just needed to...go faster. Take in more of him.

"This is perfect," he whispered, sweeping a curl from her cheek and over her shoulder. "You're perfect."

She moaned around him, head dipping again. It felt sexy, his fingertips on her cheek and neck, moving lightly over her jaw. He didn't guide her, but he seemed to relish in moving with her, holding back the curls that threatened to obstruct his view.

She took him deeper and deeper, wetting him with her saliva until her lips were gliding smoothly over his length, sucking softly as she pulled up. Pressing her tongue against the underside as she moved down.

She cupped his balls and used her other hand to push and pull at the base of his cock, those inches of him she couldn't reach with her mouth, and a deep moan escaped his throat as she worked him faster.

"Feels so fucking good..."

His hips began to jerk in time with her movements, short bursts of breath matching her pace. He gripped her hair in his fist and then let go abruptly with a muttered apology, and then he grabbed the arm of the chair and let her hair fall where it would.

She licked and sucked and stroked him, savoring his moans and primal reflexes, pushing her own limits to maximize his pleasure. Repeating motions that made him gasp.

It felt so intimate, so much more than she'd convinced herself this act could ever be. She lost her mind in his pleasure, his intakes of air, his noises, his little tremors.

"I'm close," he said in a strained and sexy voice.

She looked up again and ran the tip of his cock over her slick and swollen lips. His lovely face...contorted in lust. He breathed in tightly as they made eye contact, his brow furrowing deeply.

She dipped again and sucked the hard, twitching length of him, wiggling her tongue as she pulled up. "Oh...fuck Hermione. You're gonna make me come-"

She dipped and lifted again, this time rolling her thumb below the head of his cock as she licked around his head. And dipped again quickly.

His hips followed her as she lifted, his feet planted firmly on the ground.

And she dipped again.

His hand flew to the back of her head, fingers threading into her curls as she moved, as he finally accepted that she had no intention of stopping. His moans were constant and imploring, and she rubbed her thighs together, unable to believe how much this turned her on. Her slick hand moved down his shaft, mouth following her fist again and again until she couldn't take another inch of him. A choked sound came unbidden from his throat and then, "Fuck!"

Hot liquid splashed against her tongue, and his thighs trembled against her ribcage, his strangled breath catching again and again with each gush. The taste and sound and feel of him spilling out was so sexy she thought she might die from it.

She swallowed and gasped for air as his body gradually relaxed beneath her hands. Her eyes were watering a little, and she wiped the liquid away with the back of her sticky hand as she met his wide eyed gaze.

He was a beautiful wreck...and she was a _self-conscious_ wreck, perfectly aware of how she must look kneeling naked at his feet, with red-rimmed eyes and wet, swollen lips.

He cupped her cheeks and ran his thumb around her mouth, catching the saliva and come and dipping in to meet her tongue. And then he kissed her deeply. Appreciatively. Unafraid of his own taste.

"You're staying here tonight," he said when he finally pulled away for air. "I'm making that up to you. Tenfold."

She smiled a little and tucked her head into his neck, curling herself into his lap.

She didn't usually like sleeping at the Manor, but she would do it for him. Scarily, she thought she might do almost anything for him, and the feeling was only magnified after watching that intensely hot orgasm tear through him.

It was a worrisome feeling that she often tried to suppress, that overwhelming desire to make him happy. Sometimes she found herself resisting just for the sake of it, fighting any requests that sounded remotely close to an order, even though he had never requested her to do anything she didn't already want to do. Tonight, the urge to stay in his arms outweighed her concern.

* * *

There was a room in the manor that she had never been in, and she had a feeling there were secrets tucked away behind that door which he didn't want her to know about.

That room was on her mind as she laid awake in Draco's bed, staring at his naked shoulder. It was dark, but the moonlight shone through the window in a way that made his skin seem otherworldly. Life had changed so much she could barely believe she was there, and what's more, that she remained with him even though she was certain he was hiding not one, but several things from her.

He was a conundrum.

And she liked solving puzzles.

It seemed so doubtful that his secrets were life-altering. He wasn't a killer or a psychopath, he just... liked his privacy. He liked it so very much that he dodged questions and gave vague answers, and sometimes lied about where he was going and how he spent his day.

Perhaps he was a compulsive liar.

Fear drove many of his actions, but she didn't consider him a coward. No, he had a calculated aversion to certain types of risk and a penchant for others. It could be that he feared to lose what they had, and she did as well. What they had was _good_. But as close as they had become, there was still a barrier of distrust between them. Questions unasked, answers untold.

His mark. He kept it carefully concealed, even though she knew it was there. She could feel the magic when her hand touched his arm just right.

Wish, her favorite of his house elves, had told her once that he spent hours alone in that room in the east wing, and after saying it the poor elf swiftly attempted to punish herself for her indiscretion. Hermione tried to get into the room once when Draco had left on an errand, but none of the usual unlocking spells seemed to work. She considered another attempt, but wandering the manor alone at night sounded like a truly dumb idea. If her rising didn't wake him, the old paintings or his house elves would surely rat her out.

Why couldn't she take their relationship at face value? She asked herself as she tucked back under the blankets. The right thing to do would be to ask him about it, but she had a gut feeling his response would be a lie, or he would have already told her about whatever he was doing.

And lies would tear them apart so much faster than secrets. Secrets she could uncover herself, given enough time and patience.

With his body warm beside her, she eventually fell into an uneasy slumber.

* * *

He was in a good mood the next morning. Wish brought them tea and breakfast in bed, at his request. With a smile that left her flushed, he fed her a bite of his papaya and shortly after, breakfast was forgotten entirely.

She liked the way he looked, hovering above her, hair falling into his face, muscles flexing with the strain of his weight and his movements, half-lidded eyes watching her reaction as he moved inside of her.

Being watched so intently still made her uncomfortable sometimes. What did she look like beneath him, with her flushed skin and frizzy morning hair, trying not to make awkward faces as her muscles seized up? However she might look, he seemed to enjoy it immensely. A strong reaction on her part sometimes resulted in his hips stuttering, slowing, his eyes closing tight like he might come just from looking at her and listening to her. It was a good feeling, to have that effect on him.

When he met his own ending, his face was usually tucked away in her neck or between her breasts. But sometimes, like that morning, he would stay hovering above her and lock his eyes onto hers. With his lips parted and brow creased, his breath would halt entirely for one, two, three heartbeats and when he exhaled his eyes would close involuntary as he shuddered. His head would drop forward, because he liked to kiss her at that moment, riding out the last few seconds of bliss.

He was beautiful.

And once again, thoughts of his room in the east wing seemed unimportant. He could be brewing potions or practicing wandwork or any number of harmless things. Acting suspicious and risking all they had built just wasn't worth it.

* * *

_Months ago_

He had befriended Harry first. It started with a taunt about quidditch that resulted in a not so friendly game of 'catch the snitch', which then turned into a rematch, a weekly competition, and finally drinks at the Leaky bought by the loser. The two men didn't exactly _like_ one another, but they had developed a strange camaraderie that left Ron absolutely fuming. Hermione eventually found herself chatting with Draco weekly at the pub, finding that they had more in common than she would have thought. Their friendship was slow-growing and uneasy at first, but his jokes made her laugh, and his sharp mind made for stimulating conversation which was often lacking in her group.

Ron's objections to Draco's presence had only made him look petty. If Harry and Hermione could set the past aside, why couldn't he do the same?

At the pub one evening, she found herself sharing a pitcher with the snarky blond while Harry and Ron were cajoling with some old classmates who had walked in. Lavender was with them, one of many reasons she decided to keep her distance. Nerves wracked, she told Draco all about her presentation before the wizengamot later in the week. She had tried to talk to Ron and Harry about it and they were supportive, but somewhat (er, completely) disinterested. She, on the other hand, could think of little else.

"Have lunch with me after. I want to hear all about how you impressed the old sods."

A tickle traveled up her stomach. It was not butterflies. It wasn't. "Or perhaps mourn the loss of my career?"

He raised a brow. "Improbable."

"But possible."

"Last I checked, you had the Midas touch," he said with a smile. It still felt so foreign, to be on the receiving end of his most charming smile. She was so used to his sneers and smirks.

He had perfect teeth.

Cheeks flushing, she looked down at his glass of butterbeer. Anywhere but his face. The liquid was half gone. He was on his second pint. His hand encircled the glass, disturbing the condensation. The pads of his long, thin fingers traced a pattern.

She looked up at Ron to sober her thoughts. He was laughing not six feet from her, completely oblivious that she, his girlfriend of two years, was sitting across from a handsome man...who was inviting her to share a meal.

Lavender's hand grazed his arm.

"Alright then. Lunch," she said, meeting Draco's eyes. Long blond lashes.

"What time are you unchained?" He asked.

When she smiled, he looked down at her mouth.

"Shackles come off at noon," she replied, suddenly aware of how her bottom lip curved in over her f, rather like she was biting it for a split second. "If I'm on good behavior."

"Often then." His adam's apple moved up. Down. "Meet me at the Intermezzo at ten after."

Ron had every right to be suspicious, and she knew that some weeks later. Draco could see that they were unhappy, and he nudged, nay hacksawed a rift between them that was irreparable.

* * *

Lunch was delicious and decadent, and Draco was almost predictably wonderful, pulling out her chair and asking her well thought out questions about her presentation. It allowed her to reflect and celebrate her victory in a way that "_how did it go! Good? great! Moving on_," never quite achieved. Still, in spite of his innate charm, she knew there was more to Draco than he was allowing her to see. Darkness. Secrets. Well hidden prejudices.

"You can do better than that dumb oaf," Draco said of Ron without much bite behind his words. "You deserve more out of life."

"I love him," she said honestly.

"And I love Pansy," he replied with a gesture of indifference, "As anyone should love their oldest friends. But..._dating_ her was a horrible error in judgement."

Pursing her lips, she chose to latch onto the new topic he offered up to her. "Are you still friends with her?"

"Yes. Good friends, with both Pansy and Theo. They were married last August." The corners of his lips tugged upward into a smile. "She's happier with him than she ever was with me. Some people are just...better off friends."

She twisted her cloth napkin in her lap. "I don't know if that's possible for me and Ron."

"You think breaking his poor heart would destroy your friendship?"

She didn't answer. It felt like a betrayal to even have this conversation with Draco Malfoy of all people. Her silence, she feared, had given him the answer he sought.

"People are resilient," he said softly. "Don't assume responsibility for anyone's happiness but your own."

* * *

The seed was planted. Everything Ron did for the following two weeks had made her question whether they were really meant to be. And Draco was lovely, intoxicating, witty, and the conversations they had were far more engaging than any she had shared with Harry or Ron in the years they had known each other.

And in spite of their difficult past, she was certain there was a spark, and that he felt it as intensely as she did. Sometimes the way he looked at her left her speechless and weak-kneed, certain he was imagining the same meeting of tongues, sinful embrace. She felt like a horrible person for sharing those quick looks, having those wicked fantasies.

A few weeks later, Hermione arrived at the Leaky long after the others, delayed by unfortunate events which, after the fact, she began to think had been his doing. When she didn't see Ron with the others at the corner booth, she went in search of him, finally stumbling upon him in the back alley.

Kissing Lavender.

Ron didn't see her and she didn't make herself known. There was no point in causing a scene, especially with so many of their friends around. She stepped into the pub quietly and leaned against the wall, remaining out of sight as she composed herself with a few deep breaths. More shocked and disappointed than truly heartbroken, she walked to the booth and whispered to Ginny that she wasn't feeling well and then made a swift exit.

Draco followed her out the door.

"Granger, wait."

She stopped and turned, eager to leave but yet strangely grateful that _someone_ had noticed her arrival and departure with more than a wave or a shrug.

"Is everything alright?" He asked.

"Yes. Everything is...fine."

He looked at her with disbelief, and she thought again about their conversations of Ron. Their recent awareness of one another.

"Did you..." she stumbled over the words and then stopped, swallowing them. She had no proof, and throwing out accusations could ruin her chance of finding any, along with their new friendship, which meant more to her than she cared to admit.

"Did I what?"

She shook her head, eyes stinging. "Nothing. I'll see you Draco."


	2. Chapter 2

The amount of appropriate time to wait between relationships was a question hotly debated between Hermione and...Hermione. She had been with Ron for years, and starting something new very quickly after their breakup sounded like a truly awful idea. The advice she would have given a friend in that situation would have matched up with the books and articles she had read, written by experts on the matter. At least one month for every year they had been with their prior partner.

That said, when Draco Malfoy said the words, "I have tickets to the symphony next Saturday. Would you consider accompanying me?" her heart leapt as it hadn't in years.

And she had truly considered declining his offer for about ten ticks of the clock, but saying no to the man she'd been secretly pinning for was an almost impossible feat.

"Yes."

His responding smile had a permanent home in her memory.

* * *

They sat perched in the most exclusive seats at the symphony, hands close but not touching. _Aware of each other,_ she thought, or at least she was aware of him, from the very subtle scent of his cologne to the way his eyes darted every so often to her exposed knee. She wore a blue dress, legs crossed toward him, though she kept considering whether it was more appropriate to cross only her ankles, like muggle royalty. She didn't feel much like royalty, although she was perched in a box shared with a man who made her feel like she _ought_ to be, to be so near him. Would he not rather be here with a pureblood aristocrat? A true lady who knew the proper way to sit, and who understood precisely where the second movement ended and the third began?

Her eyes traveled from the musicians below, upward to the intricate architecture of the ceiling, adorned with the most magnificent living painting she had ever laid her eyes upon. She was transfixed by it. As a solo violin sang, Draco leaned in and whispered close to her ear, "It was a church originally, finished in 1642, just before the war. When the Statute of Secrecy passed, it was the only church in England that was hidden."

Did he know that whispering historical facts in her ear was literally the sexiest thing any man had ever done in her entire life? She thought perhaps he did know that about her, and it was the very reason he had done it. He wanted her to feel the shiver that followed his breath, the delicious tightening behind her navel. He continued, "They converted it to a concert hall in 1820 after religion lost favor with wizarding kind. That's when they added the balcony, the risers, the wood panels."

"For acoustics."

"Yes. Arguably the best acoustics in the world."

It was then that she closed the distance between their hands, grazing her knuckles against his lightly enough that it could have been mistaken as accidental. He smiled, brows raised, and laced his fingers between hers. "The painting," he continued, lips now nearly touching her ear, "was added in 1859 when Montgomery Higgins passed on. He played 1st violin. It was his dying wish to be remembered here."

Her head turned toward him and downward, just slightly. "And the others in the painting, are they great musicians as well?"

Warm lips brushed against her cheek. "Mmhmm."

He drew her in like an ocean current. She'd been swimming against it for weeks, months, perhaps even longer than that if she were honest with herself. But now, with nothing and no one standing between her curiosity and the answer only his arms would provide, she turned her face to his and met his inviting lips with her own.

That first kiss, perfect kiss, was punctuated by the sound of the cello taking over the theme, and on a long, low, ominous string note his tongue swept past her lips. It was slow and sensual, and if she were standing she surely would have swayed on weakened knees. They continued on kissing for nearly the rest of the performance, his elbow resting on the back of her chair, fingers toying with her curls as she listened to the most beautiful music she had ever heard, while being kissed by the most seductive man she had ever met. The passage of time would have been indecipherable, but for the movements that set the pace for their exploration.

When they walked out, her hand on his arm, she didn't want the night to end. If he had invited her to stay with him that night, she would have broken her promise to herself and said yes, surely. But when it was time to part, _or not_, he held her hands within his and...kissed her goodnight.

It was almost chaste, but for the tongue that swept swiftly over her own before he pulled back and spoke.

"Let's go again next weekend," he whispered against her lips.

"They aren't playing-"

"So we'll go to the one in Marseille."

Her heart thumped. "France?"

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth with a smile. "Yes. Will you go with me?"

_Yes. Yes._ "Yes," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him one more time.

Her two month rule, she decided then, would become her two date rule.

* * *

The symphony hall in Marseille was not quite as grand, but the music had been poignant and Draco's kisses had been titillating. He broke away from her lips after a long while had passed and whispered against her ear, "Do you have plans tomorrow morning?"

She whispered, "no," not trusting her voice.

He tickled her neckline with his fingertips, his lips hovering against her ear. "Stay with me tonight. Here in France."

A shaky exhale, and then, "I assume you have a place in mind?" And _activities_.

He smiled against her neck. "I do."

* * *

Of course Draco Malfoy had his own flat in Paris.

"My parents bought it for me when they moved to France. They hoped I might join them, and I nearly considered it," he said as he turned the brass doorknob. "But my home is in England, and... being in a different country than my parents has its benefits."

From all she had gathered, Lucius and Narcissa were indeed the meddling type.

"It's beautiful," she said as she crossed the threshold, heels clicking on the finely polished wood floors. Ornate lanterns had flickered to life when the door opened, and strategically placed mirrors reflected the light in a way that gave the room both depth and warmth.

_Romantic._

She heard the door click shut and he stopped behind her, reaching around to her front collar to unfasten her cloak. He slid it down her shoulders purposefully.

"Tea? Wine?" He said, hanging her cloak beside his own near the door.

"Wine sounds nice." To calm her suddenly twitchy nerves. Her cloak resting beside his was an odd thing to react to, but it _meant_ something. Their cloaks would remain there together until sometime the next day. Because she had agreed to spend the night. The whole night. Presumably in a bed, with Malfoy. _Naked_.

Good god, she was actually doing this reckless thing, living out this wild fantasy.

"Make yourself at home." His hand brushed her shoulder, and then he walked through a door to their left.

Though it was exciting to be alone with him, as she walked further into his flat all she could think was that _she barely knew him at all._ Thirteen years ago, when she first met him she would have said she knew absolutely all she wanted to know about him, and would be happy to never ever see his pointy face again.

But now? He was a great mystery; a beautiful man with a complicated past and a life that she knew very little about. A love of music, a Paris flat, _muggle books_. A wall full of them.

She didn't really know his stance on muggles, hadn't wanted to bring up the delicate topic that she feared would ruin their new friendship or whatever this was, but she was so very curious. Did he still hold any of those old prejudices? Was he past them?

"Muggles are superior to us in many ways, aren't they?" He said as though reading her mind. Her stomach felt funny when he said the word muggle, and she almost wished he hadn't. He walked toward her with two glasses of deep red liquid and smiled as she tucked a book back into the shelf. "Their constant suffering adds poignancy to their literature, their music. All the arts really."

"Yes," she replied, taking the proffered glass. She still didn't feel any better about the topic. "They work harder for many things than we do. They take less for granted." She took a sip. "You've read their books, listened to their music?"

He nodded. "I've watched their films too, if you can believe it."

"I'm not sure I can," she replied honestly, trying and failing to imagine Draco Malfoy going to the cinema or watching television. He seemed so far removed from her muggle world.

She kept waiting for him to say something that would make her want to storm out. Slap him.

"It's a Wonderful Life. I saw it my first Christmas after Hogwarts." After the war, he said without saying as he made himself comfortable on the sofa. "I was stuck in a muggle hotel, traveling abroad... trying to figure out how to turn off the damned telly. I gave up and," he lifted his hand, "that's what was on."

Sitting beside him and curling up her knees sideways, she asked, "Did you like it?"

Her dress was short, knees exposed. He glanced downward for a second.

"Yes. Very much." He rested his arm on the back of the sofa. "I had never seen anything quite like it. Love. Desperation. Hope. It was... insightful."

She smiled at him affectionately. It was her favorite Christmas film.

He cleared his throat. "I have to say, the muggle hotels I've stayed in since have had much less... _virtuous_ television offerings."

She laughed as he sipped his wine. "Well I'm certainly glad your first film was a wholesome Christmas story. I can't imagine what sort of first impression their _other _programming might have left."

He raised his brows, grin widening for a second. "A perfectly fine one, if I'm being honest."

That boyish look he gave her left her skin tingly. Those lovely light eyes, the curve of his lips. She smiled and said, "Aah, so you _are_ the average male underneath that gentlemanly persona."

"Not average," he replied mischievously, leaning in closer. _Above average then._ "Not a perfect gentleman."

"Certainly a confident one."

He set his wine glass on the table. "A quality I suspect you like."

Her heart fluttered in her chest. "I do."

The kiss that came next was every bit as sweetly sensual as those he had given her before, but there in the privacy of his flat, his hands were bolder in their exploration, starting with her bare knee, which he caressed with precision. It was like he knew exactly which way to move his fingers to elicit the desired response, and the skin there was far more sensitive than she remembered.

When his hand moved beneath her skirt against her bare thigh, she felt her heart begin to hammer against her rib cage. She had only been with one man, and Draco was..._unfamiliar_. He moved differently. Everything he did, from the swipe of his tongue against her neck to the curl of his hand around her bare hip, he did with such confidence and smooth fluidity that she felt breathless... clumsy in comparison.

She wasn't certain she liked that dynamic, but couldn't stop her hands from trembling as they trailed over his firm chest. He was kissing a spot on her neck that felt so blissful she almost moaned. God he was good at that, and his thumb gliding over the inside of her hip felt so erotic she thought she might die of suspense.

It was the thump of his heartbeat that finally quelled her nervousness. That flurry of movement beneath his ribs reminded her that he was not just _affecting_ but also _affected_. His body was responding to her presence; her tongue, her skin, her fingertips, her breath.

As he licked her pulse point, she forced her eyes open and rooted herself in the present, observing the flicker of the lanterns, the weave of the upholstery, the broadness of his shoulders. She didn't want to be a clumsy inexperienced fool with him.

Soothed by facts, she recited all the ways arousal affected a man physically.

Engorging.

Tightening.

Heart rate.

Respiration.

Blood pressure.

Muscle tension.

He was human, _not a sex god._

Confidence regained, she sat up on her knees, flung her leg across his lap and straddled him, hovering inches above his thighs. She looked down at him, and his eyes were oddly expressive. Pupils dilated, lips parted. He desired her deeply and made no attempt to hide it. She imagined then as she looked down at at his lovely lips, what he might look like on the verge of his climax. Would he be so expressive? Oh she hoped he would, wanting very much to see him exposed that way and share in his pleasure.

Her fingers threaded in his hair, and she kissed him, loving the way he pulled her body against his chest and then guided her slowly down into his lap. Her center moved down against his abdomen.

Incredible friction.

Her dress rode up, up, and then she connected with his upper thighs and felt his hardened length, just an inch to the left of where she needed it most. His breath, warm puffs of air against her cheek, was ragged and growing desperate as his hands swept over her back, her sides, her hips. He unzipped her dress and kissed a path down her neck, and when she rocked forward and then backward, his hips lifted off the sofa an inch with an audible breath.

God, it felt good.

He swept her dress up over her head, tortuously slow, and she lifted her arms to allow it, feeling oddly childish as her hair lifted into the fabric and then fell against her back.

Fleeting physical beauty.

She possessed the traits most men would consider desirable, but she had not always and would not always. Round breasts and hips; a trim waist; soft golden skin. She unfastened his robes as his eyes roamed her body, and he whispered, "Fuck," as his hand swept lightly over her bra. No, no enhancement charms required. His gaze followed his fingers down to the dip of her waist, around the front hem of her knickers and then lingered just below her navel as if transfixed. Breathing deeply he met her eyes. "You're a beautiful woman."

Once his robes were shrugged off in a pile of fabric behind him, chest still covered by a black shirt, she pressed her lips to his again. What an excellent kisser he was, to be able to mimic so perfectly the act of making love with just his lips and tongue.

He reached back over his neck and gathered the fabric of his black undershirt, then pulled it over his head and discarded it.

She liked the way his hair ruffled, the way his lean muscles felt rippling beneath her fingertips. She looked down at his body, running her hands across his firm abdomen. His bicep felt nice under her palm. "You're a handsome man."

He smiled and pulled her close, so their skin was pressed deliciously together. Her hand swept over his neck, his bare shoulders.

The click of her bra was felt and not heard. As he nudged the straps down her arms, his lips parted below her ear and licked, and then her breasts were liberated. The stiff peaks were sensitive, and when he grazed his thumbs over them she gasped into his hair, wanting him to know she liked it, wanted more of it.

He didn't disappoint, mouth quickly replacing his thumb. A soft whimper escaped her throat as he began sucking and flicking at each breast while her hands held him appreciatively in place.

She rocked against him once more, and he made a noise deep in his throat that spoke of carnal need, a desire to consummate.

It felt incredible, him at her bosom, and he didn't seem to tire of it at all, laving her with kisses for what she assumed were several minutes, until she was so slick with desire that she was almost panting. He kneaded her arse with both hands, and though she did not remember ever fully enjoying that feeling, he was so close to her center that the indirect stimulation made her insides quiver.

Apparently there was a right way to rub an arse, and he had unlocked the mystery.

His fingers dipped below the fabric of her underwear and inward, acknowledging with a deep breath that she was unquestionably aroused. Simultaneously, he slipped a digit into her core and bit down on her nipple.

It sent a shockwave through her that was so fantastic she moaned and rolled her hips against his hand.

When he stopped to look up at her, his eyes were dark and hungry like she had never seen them. The time for teasing was over. He held her close and lifted her until he was standing with her legs wrapped around his middle.

She didn't worry that he would drop her; he was too graceful for such things and she knew it. As he stepped toward the hall with his face in her neck she knew her confidence was well placed, but he did wisely stop and lean her against the wall for a kiss and a grind of his hips, and reposition her higher before he continued to the bedroom.

Lights flickered on as they stepped through and she looked around to see dark colors, ornate wood shelves and a large bed that begged to be laid upon. He did lay her upon it; her head fell upon the pillow at an angle, and it was every bit as comfortable as she imagined it would be. Not the cold chill of her lonely bed. He climbed atop her and she was enveloped in his warm body heat, his hardened muscles and soft skin, his gentle and coaxing lips. Her hands moved to his trousers and she unfastened them with her once again trembling fingers.

He pulled them down right along with his boxers and kicked them off while he refocused his lovely mouth on the bottom side of her breasts. Next, her rib cage. Then her navel. He looked up at her as he hooked his fingers into her knickers and pulled them down slowly over her hips. But his eyes couldn't stay affixed to hers with that tempting sight before him, the last remaining fabric being tugged down her thighs and over her knees. His moment of distraction was welcome as it gave her an unrestricted view of him, fully naked, pale and sexy, with a perfect pink prick jutting out. Her body sang like a cello at the sight and she looked up at the ceiling trying hard not to appear too overjoyed, though she was...thoroughly, and especially when his mouth surprised her with a kiss at her very core.

"Ah!" she cried with a jolt, looking down at his buried face, his eyes fixed upon hers. How had he landed there without her notice? Oh, yes, she had been marveling about his endowments. She felt him smile against her folds like he knew what she had been thinking, and then he set about licking her with an almost firm tongue that softened and curled at precisely the right moment. Soft cries of appreciation came forth from her chest, like her lungs and her heart and her core were in sync and working together to mortify her with a voice that was too high pitched, too much like a girly sob and not enough like the moan of an adult woman possessing prowess and self-restraint. He feasted on her sounds, at least as much as her throbbing clit, listening, she knew, for the signs of what she enjoyed.

Was it the flicking or the circling, or was it the swirling just an inch inside of her? The rub of his fingers just above her nub? _All of them_, her body replied. Everything was drowned in her pleasure. The whole world was swallowed by it until there was nothing left, except perhaps a gnawing urge to reciprocate, and bring him with her to this lovely edge.

Her thighs quaked delightfully over his shoulders and she fought the impulse to arch her hips, not wanting to disrupt his perfect rhythm. Lord he was good at this. Surely very well practiced, but at that moment she was nothing less than grateful for his experience because he was pure excellence. No training required.

And then he was hovering above her, his perfect cock aligned with her entrance, and he kissed her softly as he applied pressure. He gasped against her lips, and his hand tightened around her shoulder as her walls gave, and gave, and gave around him until he was fully submerged, his hips flush against her inner thighs.

His hand cupped her face and he deepened the kiss for a wonderful second before he broke away and gazed down at her, watching her open mouthed expression as he pulled out and pressed in, over and over. She writhed beneath him, fingers trailing down his sides and back up to his shoulders, savoring every inch of his skin.

The way he moved his hips reminded her of an illicit dance, not merely a direct thrust and retreat, but a rocking of his hips that left her feeling so blissfully full of him she wanted to weep. She clasped his hand which rested just above her shoulder and he welcomed it, threading his fingers between hers just as he had on their first date.

After a few blissful minutes of kissing and arching and clasping hands it occurred to her, this wasn't just sex, it felt a great deal more like _lovemaking_. What a completely unexpected and intimate thing to be sharing with Draco Malfoy, her old childhood nemesis. Had she expected a brisk and lewd encounter, a _fuck_, when she arrived at his flat that evening? Absolutely. Perhaps several. But this was not that, and if she had to guess right then she would have said that this one session of lovemaking could last well into the night, because he clearly knew how to pace himself, how to enjoy a woman slowly and fully, how to savour the experience, how to remain fully immersed within the present moment. He wasn't thrusting blindly toward his ending, though he certainly did seem interested in bringing her to new heights, with his fingers rubbing just right until she was shuddering and gasping.

Oh god everything began clenching and seizing and spasming as he held her close and rocked, but then he did the damnedest thing, and he stilled entirely, kissing her neck and holding her hips in place as her body slowly relaxed. When the tension subsided, he kissed away her confusion, and then put his hand between them and rocked his hips, beginning again.

She wondered if he was simply proving he could, or if he wanted to see her beg (which she very nearly had done), or if he had some other motive for doing such a torturous thing. When he felt her tensing and quivering around him that second time, his fingers and hips persisted, albeit slowing just before she peaked, drawing it out as she whimpered and arched below him.

"Oh my god," she whispered right then, face flushed, each breath accompanied by something akin to a squeak. She gasped quietly at that crescendo, and holding tight to his shoulders, curling inward on herself, she whispered his name.

And then she toppled over a steep cliff and into euphoria, limbs trembling and core sizzling as he fucked her slowly through it. When her eyes fluttered open she realized he was watching her, the first of many times, observing her with his beautiful slow and shaky hips, his muscles clenching and cheeks flushing. He leaned down and whispered against her ear, "God you are _sexy_."

He lifted up her leg and brought it across him, rolling her onto her side while he was still sheathed within her. He was deeper at this angle, pressing hard against a spot inside of her that was as painful as it was pleasurable.

"_Oh_," she gasped, holding tightly to the edge of the pillow. The resounding moan against her ribcage was all she needed to know how much he loved this position. She sucked in a tight breath with every nudge of his hips, her entire body tightening as she prepared herself for the next deep thrust.

It was too much, but she could take it for him. She wanted to be an exceptional lover, as he was for her, and she was willing to sacrifice comfort for a few minutes. If he wanted this. If he liked this.

He shoved his hand into the pillow and propped himself up, looking into her eyes just before he kissed her. And each thrust thereafter was a little gentler, the pressure subsiding just enough that another, more subtle and exquisite pressure began to build. With his mouth covering her nipple and his fingers working delicious magic at her clit, his cock driving into her at a quickened pace, she clamped her thighs around his wrist and moved her hips earnestly. Before she was fully aware of what was coming she spasmed around him and jolted with a cry, a fast and intense orgasm that left her inner walls fluttering as he moved inside of her. He pulled back her hair and kissed her jaw, soothing strokes of his hand on her arm warming her skin and melting her heart.

She knew what she wanted next.

She sat up, gently extricating her limbs from his and she pushed his shoulder so he was flat on his back. As he realized her intention he licked his lips and leaned forward to capture the stiff peak of her breast in his mouth. She settled above him and slowly impaled herself, enjoying the way he gasped and grabbed her hips. His eyes glazed over as he leaned back into the pillow and watched her move. The rise and fall of his chest captivated her as she moved her hips back and forth, and she liked the way his fingers ran through his hair and then across his jaw, savored the contrast between his white hand and pinkened cheeks. He wasn't as comfortable being out of control, wasn't as confident when _he_ was the one being brought to the edge, _watched_. She didn't want to be the reason for his discomfort, she wanted only pleasure for him, so she leaned forward and kissed him to distraction, letting him arch up into her at his own pace. _Faster. Oh... God..._ Patterns tingled on her thighs where he had traced them with his fingertips, but he stopped abruptly and held her hips so she couldn't move.

"God. You feel fucking amazing," he pressed his head into her shoulder. It was a beautiful thing, seeing him on the verge, heart pounding, stomach muscles aquiver.

He sat up swiftly and flipped her onto her back, driving into her faster and harder than he had before, sucking her neck and rubbing a spot above her center that felt incredible.

She wanted to tell him she couldn't come again but she didn't have the words, and when the words were finally there on the tip of her tongue they were no longer true.

"Oh god, right there..." she whispered writhing under him and touching every bit of his skin that she could. That spot on his ribs that he liked, the biceps that kept making themselves known beside her, the hair that fell in his face as he licked her breasts. She wanted to make it about him, wanted to be focused on him but it felt so good. So good.

His breath was coming quick, brows furrowed. His lips brushed over hers, fiery, passionate. Their hands clasped, fingers threading again as they gave themselves over to one another and to their desire for a shared peak. Their bodies were clapping, trembling, his self control impaired as he finally gave in and stopped trying to impress her with his prowess. And this, this reckless thrusting, moaning, flushing was the sexiest sight she had ever seen. Each sound he made resonated in her core, and as a choked sob escaped her lips, tension bursting below her navel, he gasped and seized. His fingers squeezed around her hand and he shuddered all around her, wrapping her up in the intensity of their combined pleasure.

He continued moving for as long as his body would allow, and as he finally sank down onto her, she felt their labored breathing, their fluttering hearts, the tremor of muscles. She couldn't tell anymore which were his or hers, they were so fully entwined.

Rather than rolling off of her, he rolled them over completely so she was lying on top of him. Scooting down so her head was on his chest, she listened to the swishing sound of his heart. He swept her hair off her face and played with her curls until her drowsy eyes closed into a restful, sated slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: There's a dash of Hermione/Draco/Pansy/Theo and various combinations thereof in this chapter, but mostly just hints as Hermione tries to figure them all out. Haven't decided if I'm going to explore that much in later chapters, but either way this fic is solidly Dramione. Pansy and Theo are happily married in their own way.

* * *

She watched Pansy from across the dress shop. If Draco were here, he would want her to leave immediately and not speak to his old friend. His old _girlfriend_. But why?

A rogue thought struck her. Perhaps he was cheating.

No. She thought of their life together and could hardly believe the idea.

More likely, he was hiding many, many secrets, and Pansy knew some of them. Hermione had already unearthed a few, and where there were a few there could be a few hundred.

"Pansy," she said rounding the dress rack with a forced smile. The girl looked surprised for a second and then smiled back.

"Granger, it's good to see you again."

Hermione wanted to wipe that cool facade right off of her face, along with her enhancement charms. No ones lips were that perfect. "Good to see you too. Are you shopping for the gala?"

"Yes." She lifted a black dress to her front. "I'm thinking black. Be honest. Is this too slutty?"

Hermione was surprised that the girl thought anything was too slutty. "Provocative," she replied, "but in a good way. I like it."

And she did. It was a beautiful dress, and though she wasn't brave enough to wear something that showed that much cleavage she did like how it looked on others. Pansy grinned, showing off her pearly white teeth.

:::

Shopping along side Pansy was an exercise in self-restraint. Their tastes were much different, and nearly all the dresses she suggested made Hermione want to cringe.

"Try it on," Pansy said, holding up a gown to Hermione's chest. "Just try it, Granger."

"Fine."

When she came out of the dressing room a few minutes later, Pansy whistled. Hermione wasn't sure why it made her blush. Maybe it was the way Pansy's plump lips made a small tight circle to whistle through. "Wear it to the gala. Every man there will wish they were going home with you." And then with a devilish smile, "it will drive Draco insane."

Yes, she could imagine his possessive arm around her, warning anyone in the vicinity to steer clear.

"Why would I want to drive him insane?"

"Because it's fun. That look he gets when he's jealous..." she licked her canine. "Hot."

She was right. It was.

"And maybe he'll punish you after." She said with a wink.

Hermione bristled internally, and then said, "I think I'll stick with the blue one."

"Come on, don't you like feeling sexy?"

Hermione turned to the mirror again. Yes, it was flattering in all the right places. She did feel sexy in it. And awkward.

"I don't want to be objectified by my colleagues."

"You'd rather they call you a prude? Uptight know it all?" Pansy asked. It had been awhile since she'd been called any of those names, but she supposed it was because her old classmates were all grown up and too mature to spout that kind of insult aloud. Well, _most_ of them anyway.

"I'd prefer that the people I work with don't think of sex at all when they look at me. I want them to take me seriously."

Pansy laughed and approached her. "Everyone thinks of sex. All the time. When a man looks at a woman, I can guarantee within the first thirty seconds they've made a decision on whether she is fuckable. And you can fall in two camps, three perhaps for some women. Yes, no, or _maybe if I'm hard up_." The woman in front of her was a different type of cynic, and Hermione wondered what had happened to make her think this way of people. "Now... of those three, who is more likely to get a promotion?"

"The one who _earned_ it. Honestly Pansy."

"No, the _fuckable_ one who earned it. Now I'm not telling you to dress like a whore to the office, but to a social event? Make yourself... unforgettable."

Hermione hated to think she had a point, but being memorable did have it's advantages.

"I'll add a little incentive. If you wear that, I'll let you choose my dress for me." Hermione looked back at the witch, surprised at the offer.

"Whatever I pick?"

"Within reason. That purple number over there?" She looked at her pointedly. "I'd rather die."

Hermione looked at herself in the mirror again, imagining what it would be like to wear it to such an event. It certainly would draw attention, though not the kind she usually sought. "Alright. Offer accepted."

:::

Having a chance to dress Pansy felt just a bit like playing barbies, which she had never admitted to anyone in the wizarding world that she had done as a child. Not that they would know what a Barbie was. She settled on three dresses that she knew Pansy wouldn't choose for herself. They were beautiful, light colors that looked elegant, angelic compared to her usual black.

Pansy wrinkled her nose, but she took them to the dressing room and tried them on all the same.

"I look like a virgin," Pansy said with a raised brow as she looked at herself in the long mirror.

Hermione wondered what exactly a virgin _looked_ like. Definitely not Pansy. In any dress.

"It's subtle. Classy."

"Do I come off as a subtle woman to you?"

"No," Hermione replied, "and that's what makes the contrast so lovely." And it was quite lovely to see her in such a muted color like champagne.

"Try the long one."

"My legs are one of my favorite assets."

"It has a slit. Try it," Hermione bit out.

"Fine."

She was in the dressing room for two minutes before she summoned Hermione.

"I need help."

Hermione honestly doubted that. She could probably use her wand to fasten the tiny buttons.

She peeked her head into the dressing room all the same. Pansy had her dress halfway on, a hand over her chest holding the silk garment in place. Her eyes were drawn to Pansy's bare shoulders and lacy black bra strap.

Contrast.

"Button me up?" Pansy said with an innocent look that reminded her a little of Draco's, "who, me?" expression. It must be a Slytherin thing. The girl wanted to show off her assets, whether to fish for compliments or make Hermione jealous, she wasn't sure. It had neither effect, but a third that made her feel uncomfortable in a way that she only ever was around Pansy.

She stepped into the dressing room and shut the curtain tight behind her, then grabbed either side of Pansy's unfastened dress. It was a bit more complex than the average gown, she admitted to herself reluctantly. She pulled the straps up over her petite shoulders, _like she couldn't have done that herself_, and started with the bottom button.

"It's too bad Draco keeps you locked away." _Like a dirty secret._ "I think we could be friends."

Friends. With Pansy. The fact that she was in a dressing room with the girl was shocking enough, so she supposed it wasn't out of the question that they could get there eventually.

"He doesn't keep me locked away." Except from his Slytherin classmates. And his parents. "He's just... private."

"He likes his secrets, doesn't he."

"Which secrets are _you_ referring to?" Hermione said, trying to appear playful and not nosy as she fastened the final button. Pansy didn't need to know how many secrets she and Draco kept.

"If I told you," Pansy turned to her, "they wouldn't be secrets anymore. I'm sure you know some I don't, I know some you don't." She smiled and looked at herself in the mirror. "Why together, we might actually have a complete picture."

Perhaps Pansy was befriending her for the same reason she was befriending Pansy. "Ahh, so that's why he keeps us apart."

"That, and other reasons."

Hermione raised a brow.

Pansy had a wicked gleam in her eye. "He doesn't want us corrupting his perfect little angel." She stepped forward, too close for Hermione's comfort, and Pansy's fingertips grazed her jawline. "Saint Hermione," she whispered. She felt a tingle where Pansy's fingers had been. She wasn't wearing perfume this time, so the effect wasn't magical.

"I'm not a saint," she replied, questioning why being a saint was an insult at all. Ah, yes. It made the _immoral_ folks uncomfortable. Judged. Was that why Draco kept so many secrets from her?

"I bet you are. And I bet he just loves that about you. I always was a little too extreme for his taste." She looked Hermione up and down. "I admit your sweet and innocent demeanor has its appeal, but I do hope you spice it up on occasion. He has a darker side that requires...quenching."

Hermione did her best to hide her embarrassment. She didn't like that Pansy knew or _thought she knew_ Draco's intimate desires. He would tell her if he wanted more, wouldn't he? He wasn't a wallflower in the bedroom. But he was very attentive to her in an almost protective way, and it had left her wondering more than once if he put her needs ahead of his own.

Pansy smiled, with teeth, having planted the seed of doubt that she intended, and then turned to admire herself again, this time thrusting our a leg to test how much skin was exposed. "Perhaps our little dress trade will work for us both. I get to be saintly for an evening and _you_ get to be the bad girl."

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. "I'm beginning to think you _are_ trying to corrupt me."

"We all have our hobbies." And then, "Undress me."

"Pansy-"

The innocent look again. "I need your help."

"I'm not a handmaiden."

"What's the matter, afraid you'll enjoy it? Oh my, perhaps you're a deviant after all," she said over her shoulder.

Hermione scoffed, then unfastened the first three buttons swiftly, a flip in her stomach telling her that this was now bordering inappropriate.

"_Slower_."

Hermione pursed her lips, but complied. "So how is Theo?" She said as casually as she could. Clearly Pansy needed a reminder that she was a married woman. Flirting was still flirting, even if it was with another woman.

"He's incredible," Pansy tilted her chin down and to the side, exposing her neckline. Hermione had a feeling Pansy wasn't referring to his current wellbeing.

"He has a big... career change coming up. I don't like it much, long hours and all, but...whatever makes him happy."

"Good of you," Hermione said as she took the last button out of its loop. She stepped back thinking it was a good idea to put distance between her and her would be corruptor. "All done. I think you can take it from here."

"I'd prefer that you do it though," Pansy said with a half smile.

Hermione rolled her eyes. This was beginning to feel like a game of chicken, and she wasn't sure why she kept taking the bait, but a tickle at the end of her spine encouraged her to make the most of this probably once in a lifetime opportunity.

Anything worth doing, Hermione thought to herself, was worth doing well. Touching her fingertips lightly to the bottom of Pansy's parted dress, and noting the black lace knickers that matched her bra, she dragged her nails upward under the edge of the fabric, parting it slowly.

"I do love your nails," Pansy said in a whisper, head dropping forward. Hermione lingered at the center of her back, tracing the edge of the black lace, memorizing the feel of her soft skin.

When Hermione reached her shoulders, they made eye contact in the mirror. Suddenly Pansy didn't look so bold. Her bluff had been called, smile nearly gone and lips parted, eyes flickering with what she thought might actually be real desire as Hermione pushed the fabric down her arms. It caught on the swell of her hips, and Hermione hooked her thumbs under the fabric and watched with flushed cheeks as the gown dropped to the floor in a heap.

In the mirror, she saw what could only be described as the perfect female body. Hermione had seen her fair share of naked women, living in a dorm with three other girls, but none of them quite held a candle to the woman in from of her. The swell of her breasts, the soft round curve of her hips, lacy black and very much see through undergarments... Hermione felt a gnawing urge to touch her again, if only for a second. Pansy swayed backward and Hermione, summoning up the very last of her bravery, leaned in close to her ear.

"As I said, I'm not a saint, Pansy."

The gooseflesh on Pansy's back told her that she had proven her point, and would do well to make a swift exit.

"Consider it retracted."

Hermione plucked the silk champagne gown from its hook on the wall, trying to seem unaffected. "Wear this one." _Virginal becomes you._

Pansy took the dress from her outstretched hand, her dark eyes lingering on Hermione's. She has a feeling if she didn't leave right that instant Pansy would cross yet another boundary, and it would be disastrous.

"I've got to go. I-I'll see you at the gala next weekend."

Pansy grinned as Hermione stepped out of the curtain, and she called out after her, "Wear the dress!"

Hermione made a beeline for the register, hoping that she might escape without seeing Pansy again. She bought the black dress that had been chosen for her, and the blue one just in case she chickened out.

From the window, she watched Pansy set the champagne gown on the counter, a small smile tugging at her lips.

—

The Ministry's annual gala would have been boring, pretentious, and the very last place she wanted to be, but that particular Saturday evening seemed different than other events she had attended. The way Draco had looked at her at the beginning of the night, odd the tilt to his head, the raised brow as he eyed her cleavage, the way his lips parted as he trailed a single finger down the vee and back up the other side.

"Is it okay?"

"It's stunning."

The a carnal hunger in his kiss reaffirmed his appreciation. She thought for a moment they might not make it to the gala at all.

And the way Harry had looked at her was particularly surprising. It was like he had forgotten she was female entirely until that night.

"Harry her eyes are up there," Ginny laughed, nudging Harry in the rib.

"I didn't... I was NOT-" Harry said defending himself.

"You look incredible Hermione," Ginny said cutting him off.

"I feel self-conscious," she confided to the witch quietly when no one else was listening.

"You shouldn't. All the important bits are covered. Look at Padma, Jessica," she nodded to them in the crowd. "They're both revealing more than you and they look lovely, don't they?"

Hermione nodded and took a breath. And then took a champagne flute from a nearby tray.

She avoided the dance floor when she could, but she kept peering back at it, one couple in particular drawing her attention.

Pansy and Theo moved gracefully together, light and indiscreet caresses giving her the impression that they would much rather be behind closed doors indulging in a much different activity. Against her own will, Hermione pictured the beautiful couple indulging themselves.

"For fucks sake, Granger. Stop courting disaster."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He sat forward a little. "You keep looking at them."

"Her dress," Hermione said with a smile, "It looks nice on her doesn't it?"

Draco shifted in his chair and glanced at the couple. "Why are you so interested in what she's wearing?"

It would have been wise of her to tell Draco about her encounter with Pansy directly after it happened, so she wouldn't have to do it now.

"I helped her choose it."

She resisted the urge to fidget under his glare, instead taking a sip of champagne and gauging his reaction over the edge of her flute.

"You went dress shopping together." His jaw moved back and forth.

"Yes."

His nostrils flared slightly as he looked down at her chest and back up. "That explains a lot."

"I thought you liked it." She knew he did, in fact.

He leaned forward. "I'd like it better if you were wearing it to bed."

She was surprised by his forwardness, the treble in his voice put goosebumps on her skin. He never made lewd remarks to her.

Always so respectful.

The sudden ping in her lower abdomen made her think that just once in awhile, it might be fun to set manners aside.

Her hand covered his, tracing a circle over his wrist.

"But you do. Like it."

His mouth opened and closed, a dark look in his eye. What had gotten into her? It was like wearing a sexy dress made her want to act the part. He reached down discreetly and touched the inside of her knee, tracing a small pattern that he knew would affect her a very _specific_ way.

"Draco," Theo's voice broke through their confusing sexual tension and they both looked up at the beautiful couple that Draco had been trying to dodge. Pansy eyed her dress with a satisfied smile.

They both stood and exchanged pleasantries, and though they had done the same with twenty or more people that evening, this felt markedly different.

For one, Pansy had latched onto her hand and held onto it, as though they were best girlfriends. She wondered if it was to irritate Draco or if it was an extension of their exchange at the dress shop.

"Can you return an owl on occasion?" Theo teased as they pulled up chairs and sat down for a drink together. "I'm starting to think you're avoiding me." The man had a sincere and infectious smile. Even Draco seemed to soften at the sight of it.

"I've been busy," Draco replied effortlessly.

"Too busy for your oldest friends?" Pansy remarked. "Granger seems agreeable enough to our company." She ran a thumb across the back of Hermione's hand, catching Draco's attention and his eyes held a warning that made Hermione want very much want to sink into the ground. A topic change seemed like the best possible move.

"Tell us about your new position Theo." Hermione kindly extracted her hand from Pansy's under the pretense of needing a drink of champagne. "I hear you're back at the DMLE."

"Yes, putting in my required three years as an auror before they'll consider me for special services." And then, "I've been partnered with Weasley."

Hermione's brows shot up in surprise. Ron hadn't mentioned it. Draco chuckled inauthentically and looked toward the red head across the room that he had also been avoiding. "And how is that working out for you?"

"Not as bad as I thought. He's a funny guy. A bit hot headed, but you know all about that," Theo said to them both in good humor.

"Yes," Hermione sighed, "he needs a level head around to balance him out. Is it a permanent assignment?"

"Yes, sounds like it. I'm surprised he hasn't told you." Then he added, "He talks about you quite a lot."

Noting Draco's discomfort and feeling oddly happy about it, she replied, "We don't speak as often as we used to."

"Draco's had her stashed away from everyone," Pansy interjected, and then added with a whisper, "In the bedroom most likely." She earned a round of awkward chuckles and a glare from Hermione. "Well it won't work, love. Everyone knows what a catch she is now. You really must bring her around and let us entertain her."

"If you'd like to entertain someone, sounds like Weasley is free these days," Draco said, his old familiar wicked smirk firmly in place. Perhaps the Slytherins brought out the worst in him.

"They see each other plenty enough already," Pansy replied.

Theo sat back and offered, "Ten hours a day, four days a week."

"That is a lot of time to spend with each other. What do you do to pass the time between assignments?" Hermione inquired. It was an innocent question, really.

"Very good question," Pansy said with a wicked smile at her husband.

"We practice dueling usually," Theo said with a knowing look at his wife.

"Oooh, a _wand_ fight," Pansy said, fanning herself. Hermione couldn't contain her giggle. It must have been the champagne.

"_Really_ you two," Theo said with a crooked smile, then turning to Draco, who looked increasingly irritated. "We need to keep them far apart."

Draco raised his glass. "You see how well that is working out for me."

A photographer came by at that opportune moment, and they shuffled around and put on their best smiles. She really hoped not to land in the Prophet in such a low cut dress. She could only imagine what Molly would think.

After the photographer left, Theo asked her to dance.

Hermione smiled kindly and looked to Pansy who didn't seem to mind one bit, but Draco barely bothered to disguise his irritation.

Smiling mischievously, Theo took her hand in his own. "It's just a dance, Draco. I'm not going to run away with her."

—

Theodore Nott was an excellent dancer, she realized after twenty seconds in his arms.

"He really doesn't want us around you."

"Oh? I hadn't noticed," she said with a smile, studying him up close for the first time she could recall. He was taller than Draco, thinner, with a pretty face and lovely hazel eyes. His lips were full (delightfully so) and his smile was endearing. He was handsome.

He chuckled in response. "I've never seen him so possessive of a woman."

She wondered what that meant, but dared not to ask. "You've known each other a long while."

"Since we were children, yes."

"I didn't see you together often at Hogwarts."

"I didn't like his choice in company, or his attitude if I'm honest. But we shared a room for seven years... you learn a lot about a person at that proximity. He was different behind closed doors but I suppose you know that now."

A pensive moment passed before she replied, "He's not who I thought he was."

"And you...are not quite who any of us thought either. I admit I'm curious about you. My best mate, my partner, hell..." he smiled and tilted his head, "even my wife fancies you."

She felt the heat rise up her chest to her face. "I doubt that."

"After your little dressing room rendezvous? I'm surprised there's any question," he said with a quirk of his brow.

"It wasn't a rendezvous," she replied, feeling frazzled and caught off guard. He chuckled again and she found that she rather liked the sound, even if it was the cause for her suddenly flushed cheeks.

"Well, whatever you choose to call it," his head tilted down toward her slightly, "she seemed to have enjoyed it very much. And I apologize if she overstepped in any way. She tends to do that on occasion."

Overstepping was an understatement, Hermione thought. "It doesn't bother you?"

"That you undressed my wife?" His teeth were perfectly straight and white. She needed to stop looking at his mouth. "Not at all."

She swallowed, not really wanting to think about the conversation that Pansy and Theo must have had about her. "I was going to say, that she oversteps."

"That all depends on the boundary she's crossing," he said with a grin. "I'm very secure in our relationship, so...no, you'll find there is very little she does that will bother me personally." He glanced at Pansy and Draco at the table prompting her to do the same. As was often true, they were a little too close for comfort. "Does it bother you?"

"I haven't decided yet. I suppose I'm still trying to figure her out. And you as well."

"You could take us up on one of those dinner invitations we keep sending. We can all get to know each other." He quirked his head. "I'm curious why you haven't."

She was instantly irritated at Draco. Clearly he had intercepted the dinner invitations because she had no knowledge of them. She masked her frustration with a smile, not wanting Theo or anyone else to know how many secrets Draco kept from her.

The last time they had discussed having dinner with Pansy and Theo, Draco hadn't reacted well, and had suggested there was an ulterior motive to the invitation. There usually was with Slytherins. Curiosity returned in full force as she recalled their conversation.

"Funny. Draco said it wasn't a dinner invitation at all," she replied, fully expecting him to laugh and dismiss it as absurd. Instead his composure faltered. He flushed and exhaled through his full lips. She had definitely touched a nerve.

"Did he now."

"I'm sorry," she said. "Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything." She thought her lying skills might have improved a bit since she started dating Draco.

"Don't be." His hand was warm in hers. She was starting to feel clammy palmed and a little embarrassed by it. "I'm sure that is Pansy's doing as well, not that I-." And then avoiding her eyes, "Is that why he's been avoiding us then? Or is it you that's avoiding us after all?"

She was silent. Should she be avoiding them? "Draco mostly. I'm-I'm..." she lost her words.

"Offended?"

Perhaps she would be if she knew what the hell was going on. "Offended is not the word I would choose."

His eyes darted back to hers with intrigue. "Flattered?" The gears clicked in her head and her stomach did a somersault. _Holy hell._ When she didn't respond he smiled. "Interested?"

For the first time since they began their dance, her steps faltered. Suddenly aware of their proximity, the weight of his hand on her hip, she gulped. He steadied them both and gave her another crooked and disarming smile.

"Either way, the dinner invitation stands alone. _Dessert_ is optional."

Composure regained, she asked him, "Do you have a lot of _guests_, Theo?"

"None at all. That invitation is for you and Draco only." His fingers splayed across her back. "I do hope you'll consider it."

—

"Nott is a decent bloke." Ron said. "I didn't think I'd like him but we have a bit in common."

_Yes, you'd both fancy a round in the bedroom with me_, Hermione thought to herself as she took a drink of champagne, both flattered and dismayed at being the object of such desire. It was easy to remember a time when she was generally considered unattractive, with her bushy hair and big teeth, and back then could not have imagined what it would be like to be looked at the way she had been that night. She looked down at her dress, imagining what people saw when they looked at her now.

Would they still think she was attractive if she gained fifty pounds and regrew her teeth? She thought not. People were shallow and fickle.

Draco seemed tense as he watched her converse with Ron, pulling at the lapel of his fine dress robes like he wanted out of them. Though he never said it, he didn't like that she was friends with her ex again. It had taken months to reestablish their friendship, but they were important to one another. Vital. And Ron had recently taken to touching her casually, seeing and enjoying how it bothered Draco. And that evening she didn't stop him from doing so though she knew she should have. After all, Pansy had been touching Draco casually, and after her conversation with Theo she was convinced that Pansy still very much wanted him _in the carnal sense_. Draco knew it. Theo knew it. And everyone was _just bloody fine with it_.

Against her will, she continued turning the invitation over in her mind. Replaying events, and piecing together information.

_It's been awhile since you joined us. We miss you._

_It wasn't a dinner invitation._

What was it, precisely? Draco knew what they wanted, but how exactly did he know? Clearly it was a topic of conversation, or an invitation he had once accepted. Perhaps on many occasions. As she watched him, and she replayed everything over and over, she _knew_ he had accepted an invitation at some point. She _knew_ it. And they were _married_. And he'd been _with_ them. It made her insides clench when she thought of how their activities might have played out.

_I've never seen him so possessive of a woman. _

Had they traded girls, or had threesomes? Foursomes? She itched to know, and didn't want to know all at the same time. His sexual history was none of her business, was it? She would be annoyed if he inquired about her _activities_ with Ron. Still, she wanted to know what the hell she had been invited to join, and couldn't stop the images floating through her mind.

_Pansy with her perfect body, sandwiched between two attractive men. _

_Pansy and Draco, with Theo watching._

_Pansy and Draco. Theo in another room with Draco's mystery girlfriend._

_Theo and Draco._

No.

She looked at Draco, recalling the way he and Theo had interacted. Was he bisexual? How could she be dating a man for six months and not know something like that? Would it bother her if he was?

The way he had avoided Pansy and Theo, but then seemed happy to see them was all very confusing.

Perhaps he was just a very skilled liar.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter is sex, lies and leglimency. All Draco/Hermione. Already mostly written, and just polishing it up. I do love reviews...


	4. Chapter 4

WARNING - Rough sex. Consensual, but there is struggling.

* * *

Hermione hung her cloak on the back of her door, took a breath and readied herself for battle. Things had been deceptively peaceful between her and Draco for their short relationship, and it was time she gave voice to her concerns. Secrets kept exposing themselves, even when she wasn't looking for them, and she was tired of pretending they didn't exist, tired of digging for answers and coming up empty-handed. She turned to Draco with a rehearsed line on the tip of her tongue, but before she could speak his hands were in her hair, lips descending on hers. He demanded entrance to her mouth which she gave with a shocked gasp. It wasn't his usual style. This wasn't the tender coaxing and teasing she had grown accustomed to, it was full on war, an attack on her senses. It felt incredible, dangerous, arousing.

Their anger was palpable and that fiery emotion was right there in the way they grasped one another; her hands fisting his dress robe, his fingers curling tightly around her hip. Red flags were waiving adamantly somewhere in the back of her mind, telling her to be alarmed because he was acting unpredictably, and they should be talking through their problems like rational adults not whatever this was, but she ignored the thought and focused on the tingle of need stirring behind her navel. Her hands ran up the sides of his fine dress robes and wrapped beneath his shoulders as she bit down on his bottom lip.

"Fuck," he said as he shoved her against the wall, pulling up her skirt and pressing his knee between her thighs. She opened them readily, hooking a leg around him and digging her heel down into the back of his thigh. His hands were all over, grabbing her backside, tracing her neckline, tickling her cleavage. He hooked his fingers in the deep vee of her dress and pulled outward until her breasts were spilling from the middle.

"I've wanted to do that all night." He leaned down and sucked a peak into his mouth and then sank his teeth into the tender skin, like he was punishing her breasts for daring to expose themselves.

It sent a jolt of pleasure all the way down to her curled up toes, and she let out a surprised cry as she held him to her chest. Her head fell back against the door, eyes closing as she learned a new lesson about pain and sensuality.

With a ragged breath, he let her guide him to her other breast and she whimpered at the pinch of his teeth, wanting him to both continue and stop, be gentle with her but also...this.

His mouth slid up her chest to her neck, leaving what she was sure would be a nasty love bite as she rocked her hips against him, and she hastily unfastened his dress robe, desperate to feel his flesh beneath her hands. He complied and swiftly rid himself of the garment, then sandwiched her firmly between him and the cold wall. It left her feeling trapped. Exhilarated.

A pull of fabric around her hip and a snap told her he had literally ripped her underwear. She didn't know that was actually a thing. It sounded like a fictional and highly unlikely action, but there it was, happening to her with a man she had been with for months.

Never like this.

Yet she had always known he wasn't really the gentlemen he made himself out to be day after day. As good as he was at maintaining that facade, he was Draco Malfoy, the same little arsehole who stomped on Harry's face while he was petrified in the train car sixth year. Though he kept it well hidden from her, there was a side of him that enjoyed inflicting pain, both physical and emotional. With a trepid heart, she wanted very much to see this side of him.

His tongue was deep and wicked in its exploration of her mouth. Seeing him lose control was, if a bit worrisome, also intensely erotic. When he cupped her bare center with his hand, she felt tingles everywhere, and each move of his fingers between her folds left her whimpering into his open mouthed kiss.

"God... you are so fucking wet," Draco growled. He had never spoken words like that before and it twisted up her insides in a way she didn't expect. "You like this, hmm? I admit I didn't think you would." His lips grazed over hers as his fingers thrusted slowly inside of her. "I've been careful with you. Maybe too careful."

She had a reply on her tongue, she really did, but as his hand grinded against her she forgot how to speak.

"Or perhaps you really enjoyed all the attention you received tonight." He leaned into her ear and whispered, "All the men looking at you. Touching you. Is that why you're so ready?"

"No! No, I-"

"_Don't fucking lie to me_. If you want to act like a slut, Granger," his fingers curled inside of her, hooking around her pelvic bone, "I'll treat you like one."

The fury in her veins should have returned and doubled, but her jaw was open in a silent cry at the pull and the pressure building in her core. At last she found the will to struggle against him, but her heart beat faster when he barely gave an inch. God, he was solid. She sunk her nails into his skin and his hand reached upward and clasped her jaw.

"Look at me."

She looked up and saw his eyes, dark with lust and wrath. Seeing him raw and depraved froze her to the spot.

"Is that what you want?"

To be treated like a...

_Slut_.

No was on the very tip of her tongue, because how fucking insulting was that, but... it wouldn't come out. His fingers moved inside of her as if demonstrating.

"Answer me."

His words sent a shiver through her, or maybe it was his hand. What did she want? What was he asking? She wasn't sure what she was doing anymore, but she wanted more of this. More of him like this. She moved her hips against his hand, letting him fuck her slowly with his fingers, and then she whispered, "Yes."

He kissed her roughly, moaning into her lips, then knitted his fingers in her hair and pulled his hand from between her legs, earning a squeak of discomfort from her. It didn't deter him, instead he seemed to feed on it, pulling at her dress until it was a pile at her feet.

He unfastened his trousers with a click, his knuckles grazing over her bare stomach as he released his throbbing cock.

"I'll give you what you want," said Draco in a silky whisper as he angled her hips and positioned himself at her center.

The shudder that ran through her from head to toe was at least as much fear as arousal. She didn't fear _him_, but this entire situation was bloody terrifying. How much had she drank? No, no, she'd only had three glasses. He'd had even less.

Before she could ponder it further, he hiked her up and held her open, guiding his thick cock inside of her as her jaw dropped.

He exhaled a shuddering breath against her ear as he drove into her again.

She shuddered and cried out at the sudden feeling of fullness, the sharpness of his hipbones as they collided. Her hand searched for purchase on the coat hook above her, aching for control. The cloak she hung earlier fell to the ground as she held tight. She was shocked by the brand new feeling of being fucked into a wall with his face tucked into her neck, marveling that he could both hold her weight and also pound into her rhythmically.

"Yes." Her voice was shaky and high-pitched, and the sound caught in her throat as he exited her and filled her back up.

Their ragged breath mingled together as their lips clashed and then parted. His eyes were dark and intense, and he looked almost anguished as he met her eyes.

"Like that?"

She didn't know what he wanted to hear, didn't know if he wanted this or if he was giving her what he thought she wanted.

So she touched his cheek with a tenderness that was out of place in this volatile moment. "I like everything you do to me."

"Dangerous words, Granger." He repositioned her over his hips, angling her knees higher and then he was so deep it hit that pleasure pain boundary. She cried out, her body jumping as he bounced her up and down on his cock.

"Ohmygod, yyyes." Her eyes were wide with surprise and fear at her unexpected response. Her nails dug into his shoulders, punishing him in return. "Yes... OH."

So good so good so good.

Also...unsustainable. He stopped moving and pressed her firmly against the wall to keep from dropping her, his breath labored and heart pounding beneath her palm. When he had a solid hold again, he carried her four steps to the sofa and dropped her on it.

Not gently.

The same moment her back came into contact with the sofa cushion, he was positioning her legs over his shoulders and pushing himself into her. His pace steadily increased until she was crying out in that icky squeaky bedroom voice that she didn't like.

"You are so fucking sexy," he said breathlessly.

Imagining what she looked like with her legs up in the air, she felt oddly empowered even though the position itself was quite the opposite of empowering. She felt, as he leaned forward, like he was trying to fold her in half, and then everything was a blur because he was fucking her so hard and fast there wasn't room for any other thought to exist.

The sound of sex filled the room, moaning and whispers, heavy breathing and slapping skin; the squeak of the sofa as he fucked her down into it. He rarely made noise in bed, but he did right then as he hovered beautifully above her with his fist clenched around the edge of the sofa cushion. It was a masculine sound, which fed a need that she didn't know she had; an ache deep within that sought to bring him such intense pleasure that he couldn't help himself. And he couldn't. The sound was ripped directly from his lungs, interjected between labored intakes of air.

Then, he sat upward with a smouldering look, grabbed her ankle and watched himself disappear inside of her. He was needlessly crude about it, but for whatever reason it was still quite sexy. He sighed deeply and looked upward, as if the sight of her was too much. He couldn't fucking take it a second longer.

Women were at a disadvantage, she thought, to not be able to easily see this act. It was meant to be done to them, like Mother Nature herself had long ago decided a woman's place was at a mans mercy. Hermione didn't easily fall into submissiveness, truly wanting to be an equal in every sense, including in the bedroom, but right then she accepted her weakness for what it was and temporarily... embraced it.

She ran her hand down his bare chest and felt him shudder. He was beautiful like this. Uninhibited. But she could feel the anger and tension radiating from him and it was right there in the look he gave her. If she had to put it into words, his eyes said _don't you dare be fucking tender with me while I'm treating you like this._

And she knew then that he would give her what she wanted. If she touched him gently he would melt into her arms. If she acted like a _slut_, as he'd so eloquently put it, he'd give her a good solid fuck.

She readjusted her legs and her hips strategically, so she was spread open before him, and she ran her hand slowly from her neck downward.

What will you do, Draco?

He watched her hand with an amazed look as she touched herself, like she'd just fulfilled a wild fantasy, and he moved in and out of her with shallow thrusts. Parted lips.

He had the muscles to hold her and the prick to pierce her, so _let him_.

As his pace quickened again, hitting deeper and deeper, it began to feel like divine torture, painful and wonderful and intensified by the look of pure pleasure on his face. She sobbed out loud suddenly. Not tearfully but...overhwelmedly.

Let him...yes let him give and give and give, and she would receive, she did receive his cock and the bliss it offered to her, gratefully and vocally, enjoying that mind-numbing rapture of being filled to the very brim and then emptied.

"Dontstopdontstop," she whimpered and so he didn't. He kept that maddening pace and held her hips tight as he snapped against her. He watched her tremble and heard her cries and he fed on it. "You're so deep," she choked out between gasps, unable to believe she had actually just said those words aloud. It seemed rather like stating the obvious, some rational and near forgotten part of her brain replied, but when his eyes slammed shut and his hips stammered she knew he loved hearing it.

"Fuck." he gasped. He leaned down and kissed her lips appreciatively, rolling into her as she panted below him. "You take it so well," he said against her lips. "You like it deep now, Hermione?"

"Yes," she squeaked. She dug her nails into his shoulder blades, jaw dropping wide open as his pace quickened. The new angle felt so good. "Yes right there."

Delicious tightening. Oh god she could come like this, and she had never ever come from penetration alone, had started to think her body simply wasn't capable of such a thing. When she was almost close enough, he stopped moving entirely as he was prone to do and said, "Mm-mm. Not until I say so."

He grabbed her hands and pinned them above her, seeming neither playful nor cruel. Just simply... controlling.

She whimpered and cursed him because she felt like he was robbing her of something vital, both the experience she sought and also... her freedom. Arching up, feeling that near forgotten anger and this new frustration well up within her, she sank her teeth down into his neck. He gasped and slammed into her as she tightened her jaw. His shoulders arched and he entered her again and again, just as she needed.

"Fuck... oh _fuck_."

In a move that shocked her his hand wrapped around her throat, and he shoved her back into the cushion. He didn't squeeze tight enough to restrict her breathing but she felt a prickle of fear at the sudden bold move.

She squirmed and pushed at him with her hand, relieved when he let go and instead grabbed her jaw and forced her to look him in the eye.

"You're fucking feisty tonight aren't you. I always liked you angry," he said as him thumb dug into her cheek. "Still want more?"

Want more. More of this.

_Perhaps he'll punish you later_, Pansy said in her mind.

Impulsively, she leaned up and swiped her tongue naughtily across his bottom lip, thoroughly enjoying the way he gasped. His eyes feathered shut.

"More."

Sucking in a shaky breath, he grabbed her hips tight and then flipped her over, so her arse was in the air. She squeaked, but didn't protest at his manhandling. There was something irrationally sexy about feeling like his rag doll. She hated that she liked it. He pushed her knees tight together and entered her swift and fast. As he pummeled forward, she cried out profanities, words that so very rarely rolled of her tongue they tasted foreign.

Hair pulling was still new to her, but as he grabbed a fistful and pulled her upward she knew she liked it. Too much.

"You've been holding out on me," he said as he grabbed her breast. "You're a perfect whore tonight."

"Mmm... If you get to fuck me like a whore,_ I get to enjoy it_."

His teeth scraped against her neck and she shivered, waiting for him to bite down and pay her back for the earlier damage she had inflicted. She struggled against him a little, liking the way he held her more tightly against him.

"Yes... _enjoy_ _it_, Granger," he replied with what she was certain sounded like a smile.

When he shoved her head into the sofa cushion and turned it sideways so he could see her face, she felt a rush of excitement. He let go of her hair and pressed the flat of his hand between her shoulder blades. She wriggled against him, but he weighed her down very effectively. An intake of air from behind her told her he was enjoying the struggle, that illicit indulgence, moving his hips faster and faster against her backside.

The heels of her hands pushed back against him, but he swatted them aside easily as his hips snapped forward. She tried to move her legs but he pinned them down with his own.

"Oh...god," she whimpered.

"Take it. Enjoy it."

His voice sounded menacing. Unkind. She pictured his younger self behind her, and she wasn't sure why but the thought left her quivering and bleary eyed. She wasn't afraid of him then or now, but as he fucked her relentlessly, brutally overpowering her, she thought perhaps she ought to be frightened.

He held tight to her elbow for leverage and his hips struck more forcefully. A sexy noise from him coiled up her insides. She grasped for anything in her reach, latching onto the corner of the sofa and squeezing it tightly. She was so close that her muscles were seizing up, toes pointing, the fire behind her navel threatening to explode at any second.

"Oh god..."

"Fuck yes. Come for me."

Everything faded except physical sensation. Nothing else existed except their connected bodies, his persistent thrusts and bruising grip.

She came around him with a shudder and a cry as the primal tension deep within her snapped and coiled again, but he didn't slow down and draw it out like he had so many other times. His hips persisted in a bruising rhythm as she shook beneath him, and she was so overwhelmed, so sensitive, so much louder than she'd ever dared to be. His sexy growl and deep, frenzied thrusts were like nothing she had ever felt, drawing out her climax in a new and confounding way.

He was relentless, and she was _still coming_.

His hand flew to her hip, her name a shaky plea that she would remember and replay for weeks to come.

Suddenly she was empty, hot liquid spilling out against her backside. "Fuck. Oh… Fuck."

She pushed back against him, rolling her hips, encouraging him to keep moving. Keep rubbing. She wanted all of it.

After a few more seconds he fell forward, catching himself with an outstretched arm, and then he crushed her into the sofa.

Rolling sideways a few inches to allow her to breathe, he gasped for air, sweaty chest pressed against her back. And they laid there in a trembling heap of limbs and sticky sweat and come for a minute, both still reeling and warring internally about how this might change things between them. One hand travelled slowly up her side and then pushed her hair away from her face.

She felt exposed.

"You okay?" he whispered.

She nodded, unsure how exactly she felt. Exhilarated. Concerned. She wasn't going to pretend she was unphased by his behavior or her unexpected response to it, but she wasn't a fragile doll.

After another minute of silence, she turned over to look at him. He seemed distraught for a second, like he might be on the verge of an apology, but when she reached out to touch his cheek he flinched back, and then gave her a stone faced glare.

"You enjoyed watching me squirm tonight. Why."

She accio'd her robe, unable to have a serious conversation naked and slathered in his come. He was right of course. She had intentionally made him uncomfortable. "I'm tired of all your secrets."

"That's an insufficient answer. And really fucking rich coming from you." He stood up and grabbed his dress robe. "You've plenty of secrets of your own."

"No." The lie slipped out and she wanted to swallow it. "Not like yours," she corrected, standing up and tying the belt of her robe around her waist. "We can't continue on like this."

"Like what? Happy?" He tugged up his pants and fastened his belt. "That's what I thought we were."

How could she be happy while she had this nagging feeling it wasn't real? "I tried to let it go, but every time I turn around I find something that makes me question us!"

"What is it you _think_ you found tonight?"

She was silent.

"_Answer me_."

The question was on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't know how to form the words. "What exactly," she took a breath, gathering up her courage, "was the nature of your relationship with Pansy and Theo?"

His eyes narrowed. "What _exactly_...would make you ask me that?" When she didn't answer, he continued, "What did you and Theo talk about while you were dancing?"

She gulped. "Dinner invitations. _Optional dessert_." His jaw clenched, but he remained eerily silent. "You should have told me."

"I didn't think you'd be interested. Was I wrong? Does it..." he stepped forward, "interest you?"

"Interest..." her jaw snapped shut and she said through gritted teeth, "That's not what I meant. You _lied_ to me. You're the one who-who-"

"I have a history of doing all sorts of lavicious and generally unacceptable things. You knew that long before we started seeing each other." Below the surface of his words was barely controlled rage. She could feel it simmering. "But you... flirting with them? I didn't see that coming."

"I did not flirt-"

"Holding hands with Pansy. Dancing with Theo. Conversing with him about _dessert_." He grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him. "What the fuck would you call it."

Her heart raced and she felt prickles down her spine.

"I'd call it gathering information. I'm finished with your secrets."

"What information are you looking for? What the fuck do you want?"

A thousand questions were floating through her mind. There was a thick layer of distrust between them.

"_What do you want from me, Granger._" He said it forcefully and the treble made her flinch. He wasn't rational. "Tell me," he demanded with an edge to his voice that she didn't like. He had never scared her before, but he did right then.

His hand was tightening almost painfully around her wrist. She reached out, instinctively ready to accio her wand.

He glanced down to her outstretched hand and the expression on his face terrified her. Panic rose up in her chest and she froze.

What happened next was the very last thing she had expected.

He grabbed her face and he forced himself... into her mind.

He was a Legilimens. God, she felt so blindsided. Though she tried to pull away, close her eyes tight, block him with distracting thoughts and a maze of walls, it had been years since she had practiced at occlumency and without her wand she was hopeless.

He pushed past every obstacle like it was nothing at all.

First, it was her memories.

_I don't know, Harry. He's changed, but he's still Malfoy._

_Yes, Ron. I know you're sorry. We'll always be friends, we just can't..._

_Pansy's dress drops to the ground in a heap. As I said, I'm not a saint._

_I know things you don't. You know things I don't. Perhaps together we would have the whole picture._

_Theo's hand on her back, his hand in hers, his crooked smile. I do hope you'll consider it._

Draco's grip tightened painfully on her face.

He dug deeper, tapping into an area of her mind that had nothing to do with memory and everything to do with her thoughts. Hidden insecurities. It was like he had burst through a closed door, and she almost shrieked from the flood of emotion that was unleashed. All her doubts were right there at the forefront of her mind. Her eyes welled up with tears as she tried to shake herself loose and close herself off from the invasion of privacy. Her vision blurred.

_Her parents didn't love her. They didn't know her, so how could they? Love was supposed to be forever though, and love for a child should be infinite, shouldn't it? How could magic kill it off so completely?_

_Harry and Ron, they loved her, and they were also completely and utterly annoyed by her. Their eyes said what they never would. Please, just stop talking, Hermione. Stop nagging. Go away._

_Draco could never love her. Not really. He could never be happy with a mudblood. He wouldn't have halfblood children and sully his perfect lineage._

_It was too hard to bear, seeing him daily and barely knowing him. Uncovering secrets and lies. The locked room in the east wing. The breakup with Ron that she was sure he had orchestrated. The way he kept her away, hid her from his pure blooded friends, his parents. He was ashamed of her, she knew it._

_His relationship with Pansy and Theo. Something was different about them. They had secrets. They knew him better than she did._

Against her will, her mind conjured an image of Pansy with her perfect hair and pouty lips, kissing him in fifth year and then on the cheek just hours ago.

_What did it feel like to kiss her, and why did she sort of want to?_

His nails dug into her cheeks. He found what he was looking for and sliced away at her defenses until it all bled out.

_Pansy was seductive and beautiful and she was drawn to her in an uncomfortable way. Soft skin, round curves that begged to be touched. She was a lucky woman, to have been with two attractive men. Did she have them at the same time? What would it be like? Did Draco enjoy such things and was that what he wanted? Was he attracted to Theo? Why did she think it was sexy that he might be, and was she a pervert for thinking all these obscene thoughts? Theo, that beautiful man with his kissable lips. She could picture them together and it was lovely._

_Not her Draco._

_They couldn't have him, he belonged to her. But god Theo was sexy and she liked the way he flushed and his crooked smile. Was it normal to want to be wanted by them?_

_If you want to act like a slut, Granger, I'll treat you like one._

_Why had she allowed herself to be treated that way? Had she no self respect?_

_Was Draco satisfied with her, or secretly laughing about her inexperience? Did he compare her to the other witches he'd been with? Did she measure up? How many had there been before her? Ten? Twenty? More than that? Where did she rank - bottom of the list?_

_Draco Malfoy. So beautiful. His face, his hands, his body. She hated his mark, but even more, she hated when he hid it from her and pretended it wasn't a part of him. She hated his hair. He looked like Lucius when he let it grow long. Why wouldn't he cut it? Did he want to be his father? God she hated Lucius, but she loved his son so so much. She loved his sarcasm. Quick wit. Sharp mind. Was he a good man? Was he evil and she was seeing what she wanted to see? She loved the way he made her feel. Like no other man had made her feel. How could she love someone so fucking much when they had treated her so poorly?_

His hand softened its grip.

_Completely in love. Intensely. Her inner most desire: to be loved, to be his wife, to bear his children._

_Don't tell him._

_Don't let him know._

_Did he really care for her or was it all some sick joke? Did he know the lengths she would go to to please him? Would he take advantage of it? Did he distrust her as severely as she distrusted him? Could she live alongside someone she couldn't trust? Someone who so clearly didn't trust her?_

_Could she ever forgive him for exposing all of these thoughts? Would he even want her at all now that he knew how bloody insecure she was?_

"Stop," she sobbed with a whisper, "Please."

He jerked backward and exited her mind, breathing heavily.

Her eyes were stinging, tears pouring down her cheeks. She was utterly humiliated and she hated him so thoroughly in that moment she could not look at him a second longer.

"GET OUT," she screeched with more ferocity than she could ever recall. "OUT! Accio wand!" It flew into her grip and he took two quick steps backward. She was seconds away from casting a banishment charm to send him flying out on his arse to the perimeter of the building.

"I'm sorry."

"OUT!" She screeched, with the bitter taste of betrayal on her tongue.

He opened the door, and then he walked out of it.


	5. Chapter 5

Draco's eagle owl sat perched at her bedroom window, waiting for her to draft a reply to a letter she couldn't bring herself to open. The entire morning and early afternoon had been spent in bed, alternately crying and then reading to distract herself. After an hour in the bathtub she almost felt like a normal person again.

She sat at the edge of her bed and eyed the envelope wearily, turning it over and over in her hand. When she finally ripped it open, and read the words she promptly burst into tears.

Again.

_I love you._

Twenty minutes later, the stupid owl was pecking angrily at the window. Her quill shook between her fingertips.

_Fuck off._

Definitely the most abrasive words she'd ever written in her life, but nothing else seemed adequate. So she handed the note to his owl, and slammed the window shut.

—

A persistent knock at her front door forced her to rise again an hour later, and a sick feeling in her stomach told her it was Draco.

She approached the door and touched it.

_Knock, knock, knock._

"Hermione. Please," she heard him say. Bile rose in her throat. "Let me in."

Her wand shook in her palm.

"I'll do anything to make this right. Anything you want."

He couldn't do anything to make this right.

"Please. Just give me five minutes."

Her eyes were stinging again. How did she still have tears left? He had opened Pandora's box last night, unleashing every sick and sad and scared thought she had, and she couldn't find a way to shove them back inside.

"Let me in." She felt a light thump against the door. His head or his fist, she wasn't sure. "I need to see you. I swear to god, Granger I will stand outside this door all night. I will wait as long as it takes."

Quiet sobs wracked her body at the sound of his words. He knew every single thing she hadn't wanted him to know. Things she hadn't wanted anyone to know. He'd stolen all of her secrets.

Wiping her face with her sleeve, she willed herself to stop trembling and calm down. Hiding from him was never really an option. With her wand still tightly clasped, she opened the door.

His face was pale, and his eyes looked haunted. Remorseful. Looking upon him sent a dagger through her chest and the look he gave her said he was struck by the same blade.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Not good enough," she whispered back.

"I know." He took a breath. "Can I come in?"

"Two minutes, Malfoy."

When he nodded she took a step backward, allowing him entrance. He placed a hand on her side and moved to kiss her forehead, but she stepped back further. "Don't."

He closed the door and turned back to her. "What I did last night was almost unforgivable."

"Almost?" Her voice was an incredulous squeak.

"Almost." He knitted his brow. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make amends."

Her heart beat in her ears. In a world of magic, desperation was a dangerous thing.

Legilimency.

Imperious.

_Obliviation_.

And now she knew he was skilled at two of those, very likely the third as well. If he really did love her as he'd said in his letter, it was a destructive sort of love.

He glanced down at her wand. "Is that really necessary?"

"I cannot trust you, Draco," said Hermione as her fingers tightened around the vine wood.

His hand dove into his robe and he pulled out his wand. He handed it to her.

She took it hesitantly and placed it in her pocket, but hers still remained firmly in her grasp.

"Seriously?"

"You were wandless last night," she snapped, doing a fine job of keeping the tremble out of her voice. Wandless leglimency was a fairly rare skill, acquired almost always by years of practice. So she asked the next logical question. "Where did you learn it."

He stood up a little taller, keeping his expression neutral. "Snape."

"Snape," she repeated in a whisper.

"He was instructed to train me seventh year."

And because Snape was undercover, and Malfoy was reporting everything back to Bellatrix, he'd taught Draco Malfoy his prized skill.

"Who did you practice on? Snape wouldn't have let you-"

"Students mostly. Ernie. Lavender." He adjusted his collar. "Theo."

She imagined the students sitting nervously in the presence of Snape and Malfoy, very likely in the headmasters office.

"They never told anyone."

His head tilted as he took a breath. "I knew what was in their minds, Granger. They didn't want me to tell. I didn't want them to tell."

It was an invasive thing, having someone digging around in your thoughts against your will. She felt her eyes begin to sting again at the memory and took a deep breath, willing herself to keep it together.

"Why did you do it?" She said on an exhale.

He ran his hand down his face, knowing full well what she was referring to. "You know why. I didn't trust you."

"Did you find everything you were looking for?"

Draco steps toward her as he nods...yes.

Fucking bastard.

As if he knew the tirade of insults that were about to pour out of her mouth, he continued on. "Your mind is full of questions. More than... anyone I've ever known. I can answer some of them."

"You... _trust_ me now."

His hand grazes against hers. "With my life."

She wanted to punch him so badly her fist tingled with energy.

"There were other ways-"

"I know it wasn't right," he interrupted. "But I do know what's in your mind now. I know you won't betray me."

"I won't betray you, Draco. But I will _hex_ you. You know that right?"

He took a step back, just to be safe.

"Did you have something to do with my breakup with Ron?" She demanded.

He said he'd do anything. He said he trusted her. Time for him to prove it.

"You already know the answer to that. You've always known." His brow raised like he was challenging her to deny it. She couldn't.

Her heart ached so deeply she almost doubled over. Ron had tortured himself, and she had let him because she didn't technically have any evidence.

"How did you do it, then," she bit out.

He turned and sat on the sofa, crossing his ankle over his knee and she couldn't help but be irritated at his casual demeanor. "A potion that made him susceptible. A whisper to Lavender. She didn't require much convincing."

And he didn't look very tortured by it. He'd given her a way out, and she took it because it was easier than the alternative. Telling Ron she didn't love him that way. It felt like a punch in the gut, because she'd been weak and the man in front of her saw this character flaw. He'd exposed it.

"What's in the room at the manor?" She asked, changing topics. "The one in the east wing that you keep locked?"

"A training room." He'd clearly been prepared to answer that question and she wished she'd asked him flat out, months ago. Would he have told her?

"What sort of training?"

"Whatever sort I require. Dueling. Sparring." He scratched the back of his neck, the first sign he showed of discomfort. "Legilimency."

Her lips parted. How was such a thing possible?

"The room has magical properties," he continued, answering her question. "Many of the old estates have them, but mine is...unique."

"Is it legal?"

"It's...a gray area."

She suddenly realized that she had dropped her wand to her side without any conscious thought. Damn it, he was good at making her feel safe, wearing down her defenses.

"You've lied about where you're going," she said as she sat down beside him, wand still firmly clutched. "Several times. Where were you really?"

He shifted, and a mark on his neck caught her eye. Teeth marks. Oh, god, she had done that to him while they...the memory of it left her face hot and hands trembling. She felt a pull behind her navel that was completely out of place.

"With Zabini."

Her brain snapped back to the present. Blaise Zabini. She hadn't heard his name once in all the time they'd been together. Last year, Ron had mentioned he was under investigation but he was slippery. They couldn't get enough evidence to arrest him.

He turned to face her, a hand resting on the back of the sofa. They shared an uneasy moment of silence.

"Draco..." her voice held a plea and a question.

"I owe him a debt, which I am repaying." He ran his hand through his hair and she knew there was much, much more to this story. They were involved in something illegal together, she knew it. And he couldn't tell her without making her an accomplice.

"Are you in any danger?" She asked.

His hand touched her curls, and instead of shrinking away as she knew she should, she leaned into his hand. The thought of him being hurt or sent to Azkaban was too much to bear.

He leaned in a few inches. "I can take care of myself if the situation requires," he said quietly.

"That's why you've been in the... training room." Her hand covered his. And then she pulled it away.

The slight tilt of his head was an adequate answer.

"Hermione, I want what you want. A life together." Hearing him say the words she so wanted to hear and also feeling horribly anxious about all he'd confessed left a strange feeling in her stomach. "I love you. And I am not going to let anything come between us. And I am so, so fucking sorry for what I've done. I told you I'd do anything to make it up to you and I meant that."

Her heart beat a little faster. "You still have secrets. A lot of them."

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "There are other things I need to tell you. But not now."

"When?" she demanded.

"When you're ready to forgive me for them," said Draco with more feeling in his words than she was used to.

He leaned in closer and when she didn't pull away he rested his head against hers. Tucked her hair behind her ears.

"You're it for me, Hermione. The love of my life. I don't want to lose you."

He knew she loved him too, he'd seen it clearly in her mind, but she couldn't say the words back. Not after what he had done.

"You're very good at disarming me, Draco." She untangled herself from him and stood up. "But I need time. You are _not _forgiven."

His eyes flashed with something she couldn't identify as he stood up.

"Yet," he whispered. "But I know you love me. That's enough for now."

She reached into her pocket and retrieved his wand, then handed it back.

He raised a brow at her very obvious hint that it was time to leave, and pocketed his wand.

She walked to the door and twisted the handle, but he came up behind her and pressed his hand against it. He touched her hip and moved slowly upward.

"Draco..." she said in a warning tone.

His hand dropped from the door and she pulled it open, feeling tingly from his touch.

"Come over tomorrow night," said Draco as he crossed the threshold.

Her brow furrowed, distraught that he'd think they could pick up where they'd left off after what he had done.

"No." The word was a painful whisper.

"If you want your answers," he raised his hand to her jaw and tilted her head upward. "Then you'll need to come and get them."

She felt a weight on her ribs and a dull ache behind her eyes as he dropped his hand.

And walked away.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I rewrote Chapter 1 because the smut was weak, lol. No plot changes, but there is more character development. Check it out if interested.

* * *

Hermione beat the lunch rush to the ministry lifts by twenty minutes. Her fingers hovered between two chains: the seventh floor cafeteria, and the first floor.

The Auror station.

She pulled the chain and shut her eyes tight, hoping she'd made the right choice.

"Miss Granger!" said Margaret at the front desk as she stepped off the lift on the first floor. Hermione offered her a smile, hoping it didn't betray how tired and anxious she felt. Margaret was a stern and grumpy woman to most, and Ron absolutely loathed her, but she liked Hermione for a reason they'd never quite figured out. "We never see you anymore. Are you here to meet Auror Weasley or Potter today?"

"Auror Nott this time," replied Hermione uneasily, handing her wand to Margaret to be checked. "He isn't expecting me."

Theo was one of the last people she wanted to see after that strange conversation at the ministry gala, but he had more insight into Draco Malfoy than any other person she knew.

"Charming fellow, that one. Brought me these flowers last week for Magbob Day." The woman's eyes landed on a big bouquet of daffodils, and she continued quietly, "Right shame he's married."

"Margaret!" Hermione scolded with wide eyes and a wider smile. Theo had wormed his way into everyone's good graces, it seemed.

The east wall of the station was lined in ministry issued brooms, and a dozen large desks were scattered through the department, divided by floor to ceiling charmed glasswork which was meant to protect the ranks in case of an attack.

She'd spent another restless night trying to figure out what to do next, feeling more alone than she ever had in her life. Talking to Harry or Ron would be disasterous, but Theo...he already knew about Draco's skill. And he likely knew many of the other secrets Draco was hiding.

She considered the way Draco had looked at Theo at the gala, like he was truly fond of him. Like he _missed_ him. She'd never seen him look at anyone that way. And Theo had asked her about him every time they bumped into one another, sending Draco owls that went unanswered. Theo seemed clueless why Draco had been avoiding him all these months. So was she.

Perhaps Pansy had suggested some sordid sharing or trading that had made Draco uncomfortable. Or perhaps it was related to Blaise Zabini, and whatever Draco had gotten himself involved in.

"'Mione!" Ron said with a grin as he stood up from his desk and stepped around the glass that shielded him and his partner. Theo spun in his chair and raised his brows, equally surprised to see her. She took a discreet deep breath as Ron wrapped his arms around her middle and lifted her up a few inches. He hardly ever hugged her quite this thoroughly while they were dating. When he pulled away he kept his hands on her arms. "I never get to see you twice in one week. What's the occasion?"

She swallowed. Eventually she would need to tell him that Malfoy was responsible for their breakup. She couldn't let him live with that guilt forever.

"Was hoping to get a word with Theo actually," she replied.

"_Theo?_" he said with mock incredulity. "I'm much better company than this wanker."

"You heard the lady," Theo said with his crooked smile and deep voice. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her in for a single armed embrace that she didn't quite expect. As far as hugs went, it was far more chaste than Ron's. Her breasts weren't pressed into his chest, he didn't linger any longer than appropriate, and yet...his hand moved down her back in a very _specific_ way, gliding along her rib cage like she was fragile; an ethereal being who might vanish beneath his hand. She really hadn't meant to tuck her face into his chest the way she did, but as it happened he smelled very, very good. "How did I get so lucky?" he asked her quietly. The rumble in his voice left her with goosebumps.

She gave him a meaningful look and did her best to ensure that it came across as concerned and not flirtatious.

His smile fell slightly as he searched her eyes. "Come with me to the break room?"

She inclined her head in agreement and followed him around the desk.

"They're bringing in Saunders soon," Ron said to his partner as he dropped back into his seat. His professional side never failed to jar her. Smiling though he was, something about the seriousness in his voice reminded her of the war, and all they'd been through at Harry's side.

Theo gave a quick nod. "You know where to find me."

"It was good to see you," Hermione said as she walked away.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied, waiving her off, but she knew Ron Weasley very well, and recognized the flash of disappointment.

Theo really hadn't needed to touch her lower back as they stepped into the break room. She could see herself through a doorway, and she didn't much appreciate the tingle at the base of her spine that made her feel like she was doing something wrong. Between the look on Ron's face and the scowl she imagined Draco wearing, she was beginning to think this was an awful idea. How could she trust someone she barely even knew with something this significant?

How was it that she trusted him more than the man she loved?

When they settled at a small and slightly tilted wooden table with two teacups, she wasn't sure what to say or where to start.

"Is Draco well?" he asked, sensing her anxiety.

"Well enough," she said on an exhale.

He leaned back in his seat and ran his thumb over his full bottom lip. "He was furious when you two left the gala the other night. I'm glad you're both in tact."

No one had seemed to notice or comment on Draco's anger until now. He was a mystery to all but those who knew him very well.

Of course, Theo would notice.

"I'm not sure I am in tact," she said, hoping it didn't come across as too dramatic.

She took a sip of her tea and set it down, watching his expression change to one of regret.

"I'm sorry. We should have kept our distance."

"It's not your fault," she replied, shaking her head. She'd had a lot of time to think on it, and regardless what was said or who she'd danced with, Draco's reaction was unjustified.

"Pansy and I set him off. He saw-" Theo stopped himself and rephrased, "He was seeking information from her while we were dancing."

Hermione's eyes slammed closed. He had been so angry that night. She hadn't even considered the idea that he'd been reading minds beyond her own, before they'd even left the gala. How that might have contributed to his fury. "He read her mind, you mean."

Theo lowered his head.

"She's shit at keeping him out," he admitted, looking into his teacup. "He's read her too many times. Knows how to get around her walls."

"Then we have that in common." Hermione pulled her lips between her teeth, anger multiplying as she considered how many years he'd been using his skill against his friends. "How can you both tolerate such an invasion of privacy?"

"We're used to it, Granger. He's worth the sacrifice." He searched her eyes, looking for some sign that she agreed. When he didn't find it, he blinked and looked away. "How bad was it?"

"Very," she replied in a thick voice. Theo seemed to stiffen at the word, a deep worry line forming between his brows. "It's been days and I still can't think straight."

"I wish I could tell you he hadn't done that before. His temper is..."

"Dangerous," she offered. Her hand moved to her throat, swallowing down the knot at the base of it. His eyes moved between hers, dark pupils with hazel irises that spoke of an internal battle she knew nothing about.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm not sure it's appropriate for me to have come here. I know you're very close."

"Close enough that nothing you say will surprise me. Close enough to know what you're going through."

Hermione exhaled and cupped her hands around her tea, letting the warmth sink into her cold fingers.

"Harry and Ron would insist that I leave him. And I probably should."

"If you wanted to leave him, you wouldn't be here."

The truth of his words hit her squarely. She was still trying to rationalize Draco's actions. Trying to find a way to forgive him and move past this, even though he didn't deserve another chance.

"He took thoughts he had no right to. Things I've never shared."

He ran a hand down his forearm, caught for a moment in what she suspected were his own painful memories.

"How did you handle it?" she asked. "How did you forgive him?"

"We weren't all that close before-before he-" he looked down at his hand. "I didn't feel the same betrayal I'm sure you or Pansy felt."

Red lips and silk skin flashed in her mind. Maybe he'd caught her unaware when they were younger, as he had Hermione.

"And he didn't have much choice early on," Theo continued. "It was hard to hold it against him. That at least."

"The training with Snape."

"He told you."

Hermione nodded, watching as he loosened the collar to his uniform.

"Then he trusts you more than most," he offered, not meeting her eyes. Little solace, considering what she had to sacrifice to earn his trust. "I don't hide much from him. Don't need to anymore. By the time I learned occlumency, he had already taken everything sacred."

His flushed cheeks left her deadly curious what Draco had seen.

"Fair point," she breathed out, realigning her perspective. There wasn't much left that was worth hiding from Draco once he'd uncovered her most secret thoughts. "But even if he knows me, even if I was okay with that level of exposure, there are things I know about other people that weren't meant to be shared. Not secrets really...but private matters. I can't be trusted and my friends don't even realize it."

A knot tightened in her stomach on the last sentence. She prided herself on being trustworthy.

"He's much stronger than he used to be." He looked at the door that they'd entered from, a deep worry line between his brows. "Wordless, wandless. He picks up stray thoughts just sitting across from people. I doubt it's much consolation, but he could probably discover anything that was said to you just by walking past that person on the street."

She blinked rapidly. He was a _strong_ leglimens, even stronger than she'd guessed. And everyone knew such wizards and witches existed, so maybe her concerns were magnified by her personal torment.

"What about your work? Your cases?" she asked.

Blaise Zabini was forefront in her mind again. Draco was working with him in some capacity, and she wondered if Theo might know about it. If they could all be working together somehow, or if Draco might use information gleaned from Theo to sabotage the case against Zabini. Or a case against himself.

He rubbed his hand along his jaw. "All aurors are required to take precautions."

"What sort of precautions?"

"I'm bound to secrecy, but I'm sure a smart girl like you could figure it out," he said with a smirk. Theo sipped his tea, and she set aside that thought to mull on when her mind was sharper. "Perhaps I'm projecting but... I think your concerns might lie less in your lack of privacy and more in the...balance of power between you."

The cup clattered on its saucer and she removed her hands from it cautiously. "You're not wrong. He's full of secrets and I have...none left."

"If you knew his secrets," Theo started tentatively, "and his past was darker than you had realized, would you stay?"

Her eyes searched his for deeper meaning. Brown lashes that curved upward, worry lines around his eyes. Draco had hinted that there were things in his past that he wasn't ready to talk about, and she was desperate to know what Theo knew. What had Draco done?

"If the things he had done were truly in his past. If he was honest about them..." She bit her bottom lip. "If he was appropriately remorseful."

"Thats a lot of ifs. I'm not sure I'd be forthcoming if I were Draco."

She rubbed her forehead with her hand, wishing she knew what he'd done that required forgiveness. How could she answer a question like that without all the facts?

"Do you love him?" Theo asked.

"So much," she whispered back.

He seemed to study her as he thought on his next words.

"You're skilled in obliviation," he said finally, sinking back in his chair as her eyes widened in shock. "I looked you up in the ministry database."

A choked sound came unbidden from her throat. "That's not something I want people to know about. And I don't see how it's relevant."

The raw pain in her voice made her cringe. Obliviating her parents was the most heinous thing she'd ever done and it ate away at her every day. But she couldn't be angry about what he'd done-she'd looked up Theo and Pansy's records long ago.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking duly remorseful. "It's complicated magic. Closely related to legilimency. If you could manage something so difficult at sixteen, I suspect you'd be an exceptional legilimens."

She remembered back to the day she'd obliviated her mother and father. The effort it took to find and remove all traces of herself from their memories. And the similarities between the skills had occurred to her, but it seemed like an unethical pursuit to study memory related magic, especially after what she had done, after she tried and failed to restore what she had taken from them.

"You're suggesting I learn legilimency."

He exhaled quickly, fingertips lifting from the tabletop and dropping. "He won't like it. But that's what I would do if I had your abilities."

Her brow furrowed. "That could take years."

"Unlikely in your case. Three days of training and Draco could read people with a whisper and a flick. If I had to guess, you'd be there by the weekend if you tried."

Hermione shifted in her seat. He seemed very confident in her. More confident than she was.

"He's a very good occlumens. It wouldn't matter," she responded, trying not to sound too dismissive. "And I think that's the skill I need to focus in on. I've been practicing. I'm sure I could find a professional to train me. Perhaps whoever trains the aurors-"

"Ramesh trains the aurors," he said, "and I'm sure he'd be happy to help you, but occlumency only goes so far with the people you're closest to."

Her vision swam as she tried to imagine a world where she was a legilimens. Where she could look a person in the eye and know what they were thinking. She'd never wanted that sort of power and she wanted it even less after being on the receiving end of Draco's harsh interrogation.

"I can keep Draco out of my mind now," Theo continued. "_Usually_. But if it were Pansy, I'd be completely fucked. Love cripples your walls, and even if it didn't, no one can keep their guard up day and night."

She rubbed her eyes. As long as she was in a relationship with Draco, her mind would be vulnerable. Would his mind be vulnerable to hers? Would she be able to look at him in the minutes before he fell asleep and see what was below the surface?

"If occlumency is your preference, you can train on that simultaneously," Theo added, snapping her from her thoughts. He was pressing her for an answer she didn't know, and the muscles in her neck tensed with the weight of a decision she wasn't ready to make.

"You've made a compelling case," she replied, "and I don't mean to be impolite, but I can't help but wonder why you'd suggest that I go this direction."

"Draco's needs an equal," he said, leaning in a few inches, "and a good witch to keep him honest. Trust me when I say...that's a benefit to all of us."

The door to the break room opened behind her, and he nodded to someone as he stood. They were gone before she turned around.

"Come over for dinner tonight," he said. Her hand froze on her pursestrap, the strange conversation about dessert battering at the periphery of her mind. "I'll tell Pansy to be on her best behavior."

She returned his awkward smile, trying to figure out the words to turn down the kind offer without offending. Before she could say anything, he continued.

"I want to help you if I can. If you'll let me." He touched her hair and leaned forward, pressing an unexpected kiss to her temple.

She whispered, "I'll think on it," as a tingle ran its course through her limbs.

"I'll tell Pansy to open the floo to you. I'm off at six, but I'm sure I'll be late." He smiled down at her crookedly as he stepped backward. "You're welcome any time though."

As Theo left through the door, Hermione fought back that uncomfortable feeling that she had done something wrong. That Draco would see this memory, this feeling in her mind and he'd be furious.

_Slut_.

Hermione could barely concentrate for the remainder of her workday. She pushed papers around her desk, flitted through files on goblin artifacts, mind warring between all of her options.

Occlumency. Legilimency. Both.

Uncovering Draco's secrets was a priority to her. All the rest seemed like an afterthought when she considered what dark things he might have done in his past, and what he might yet do with Zabini. Perhaps with that knowledge there would be no relationship at all. Perhaps she'd never want to see him again, although it was difficult to imagine a world where that could be true.

Legilimency could help her uncover those secrets more quickly, either through Draco or people he was closest to. And the skill could help her determine if any story Draco told her was true or just another elaborate lie.

That was, if she was any good at it. And there was no guarantee that she'd pick up the skill as easily as Theo thought she would.

She was always up to a new challenge, though she wasn't clear if Theo had invited her to dinner to help her learn legilimency, or if this would be an extension of their conversation.

Or something else entirely.

She exhaled and smoothed down her black wool skirt, frightened at her own intrusive thoughts. She loved Draco. And he'd spent months trying to keep her from Pansy and Theo. It would be wrong to go to their home without him.

Yet, he had betrayed her in a reprehensible way, and they were the only people she knew who understood her quandary.

_He's worth the sacrifice,_ Theo had said. _He needs an equal. A good woman to keep him honest._

He wanted her and Draco together.

And he was pushing her toward a skill that would help her learn his secrets.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of her file folder and she looked up at the clock. Half past six.

She packed up her things and meandered down the empty corridor toward the lift, pondering all the ways this could bite her in the arse. Theo's hazel eyes had seemed warm and trustworthy, in a way that Draco's never were. And Ron and Harry and _Margaret_-everyone thought he was a decent man.

Pansy. She was the unknown variable. Draco's ex-girlfriend. The sexy wife who had nudged Theo off to dance with her, offering him a wink and a kiss.

Draco had bristled at that. And then, while they were dancing, he used his skill to look into Pansy's mind. Whatever he had seen there, Theo believed it had set him off.

Hermione found herself standing in front of the floo in the atrium, weighing her next move carefully.

Draco wanted her to come to his manor, and if she were honest with herself, there was little she wanted more than to see him. To let him tell her how much he loved her, fall into his arms and pretend this whole mess had never happened. But she couldn't do that. Not after what he had done.

Hermione threw down the black powder in her hand.

"Nott Manor."


End file.
